On Pavement : Through Air
by metchaky
Summary: Dean doesn't see why he should want to travel abroad when there's enough shit to see within the continental US to last a lifetime. Castiel is fascinated by the language and culture of lands he's never been in. Or: a series of snapshots from Dean's life within the context of Sam's. And maybe also more often than not in the context of Sam's former professor, Castiel.
1. Prologue

Sunlight glinted off the rims of car wheels and gasoline fumed the air.

"I told you we should've taken the 101, Dean. If I miss my flight-"

"Then, what, you'll have to wait an hour for the next one? And anyways," Dean's fingers drummed along his steering wheel to the opening lines of _Thunderstruck_, "your flight doesn't leave for another four hours and you live half an hour from the airport. This traffic may be bad, Sammy, but it sure as hell ain't _that_ bad."

"I made reservations for when I land. And, anyways, I'm pretty sure that's not how missed flights work, not that you'd know."

Dean ignored his brother and shook his head in disbelief, "FOUR HOURS. Who the hell needs to be anywhere that far in advance?"

"The general rule is to arrive at the airport three hours early for international flights." Sam pulled out his phone, glaring unhappily as the **Rerouting...** message continued to pulse unsuccessfully above the map on his screen. There had been an accident a couple miles up the road and traffic was progressing at a five mile per hour crawl. "At this speed I'll be lucky if I even clear TSA before they begin boarding."

"And that's why I drive." Dean fondly patted the sun-warmed dashboard of his Impala, "My baby would never take off to Kansas without me just because I slept in."

"Ugh. Shut up, Dean. That's not anywhere NEAR the same situation and you know it. It's not like I'm flying _within_ the United States. I'd like to see you try and drive to London." Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his palms against them. "It's not like I even _asked_ you to take me to the airport; there's this thing nowadays called 'public transportation'." Sam had, in fact, booked an airport shuttle a week in advance, but Dean was still in the habit of stopping by unannounced and when he found out Sam was planning on paying someone fifty bucks to drive him and his luggage to the airport, his older brother had taken it personally.

An older brother who was, at that moment, watching an impromptu strip-show from a brunette in a nearby Yaris. She had been peeling off layers since she first rolled down her windows two minutes earlier and was now down to a fitted spaghetti strap. "You know, Sammy, I might never be able to forgive you for giving in to San Francisco's granola crunching ways, but you'll sure as hell never hear me complain about whatever hippie god it was that convinced Hot Brunette over there to forego AC when it's a-hundred degrees out." He finally tore his eyes away and looked over at Sam when it was clear that the girl had decided to suffer through her remaining layers.

"And what about the fact that you're not using the AC either?" Sam grumbled. He wasn't looking forward to boarding an airplane after he had been sweating in the heat trap that was Dean's black car.

Dean rolled his eyes as the youngest Winchester proceeded to jab angrily at the touch screen on his phone. "Alright, Samantha, I'll get you to the airport with your three hours to spare and maybe even with a little extra time so you can run to the bathroom and untwist your panties before takeoff." Dean twisted the volume knob on his dash to drown out Sam's response as he maneuvered to the furthest right lane and then onto the shoulder of the road.

Sam reached across the car to turn on the flashers and turn down the music. "Dude, I'm pretty sure this is all sorts of illegal. And getting pulled over by the highway patrol would only make me even more late.."

"_Dude_," Dean repeated, blowing kisses at several angry drivers that were honking their horns as the Impala flew by, "I'm not a fucking idiot," he pulled off at the first exit they came to, "and don't touch my controls," before switching off the flashing hazard lights and twisting the volume up to just above what he had come to learn was the Sam-approved-maximum-decibel-level-for-moving-vehicles.

The tension slowly eased from the floppy haired Winchester's shoulders as his gps finally managed to establish a new route. "Whatever... jerk."

Dean grinned openly at the road ahead.

"Bitch."

_

The two reached San Francisco's international airport three hours and, Dean smugly noted, seventeen minutes before Sam's flight was set to depart. The international terminal was large and spacious with rows of check-in counters organized by airline. Sam stood at the entrance, pausing a moment to take in his surroundings with obvious excitement.

"Dean," Sam whispered with a nudge, "I think those people over there are Russian. From, like, Russia."

A look of feigned shock decorated Dean's face as he responded loudly, "What? Russians from... _Russia_? Well, C-3PO, I'm glad you're here to tell us these things."

"You know what I mean. They're..." Sam waved his hands in a meaningless gesture, "not just _ethnically_ Russian, they're probably actual Russian nationals." He picked up the suitcase Jess had lent to him from where it had, top heavy and unbalanced, toppled over.

Dean picked up the remaining carry-on duffel and placed it on top of the upright suitcase. "Yeah, okay. Because San Francisco is sooooo lacking in foreign tourists that your bright-eyes and bushy-tail are definitely justified."

"This is my first time traveling abroad," Sam fired back as he made his way to an array of screens listing international departures by city, "I think I'm allowed to be a little excited."

"No," Dean said, stepping aside as a golf cart rattled past, "I'm pretty sure I took you to Tijuana for spring break that one time." His gaze joined Sam's on the screens ahead of them, trying to decipher the flight status symbols flicking across the screen and only belatedly realizing he had been looking at Korean characters as the words flicked to Spanish and then English.

Sam turned to face Dean, mouth slightly open, eyebrows pinched, and head cocked to the side in disbelief. "_Nooo_, Dean. That was a TJ _themed_ party at a frat house that you crashed."

"Ohhh yeaaah," a corner of Dean's mouth raised in a smirk, "That was a good night. And to think, you were going to _study_."

Sam was back to looking at the departure screens. " I had a paper due in two weeks."

"No one actually works on an assignment two weeks before it's due," Dean scoffed. "And sorority girls, man. That's the sort of thing you're SUPPOSED to be doing in college."

"I've got Jess," Sam murmured absentmindedly.

Dean watched as his brother's eyebrows knit together in confusion with each passing second. He was fighting-though admittedly without much commitment to the cause- a losing battle against outright laughing at the expressions on Sam's face. Said Winchester's face was falling into slightly more panic with each successive lookover confirming that, no, Sam's flight **UA938 for LHR - Heathrow** was definitely not on the screen.

Sam began fumbling for his Folder Full Of Important Documents So Don't Touch It, Dean, Because I'll Know If Shit's Out Of Order. He rifled through the papers and in a voice of growing distress said, "It's not here, Dean."

Instinctively, Dean threw his hand up to chest level, palms facing out and head shaking back and forth slowly. "Dude, I swear I didn't touch your damn folder."

"No, I mean..." Sam let his suitcase once again tip forward and onto the floor before turning to Dean with wide eyes, "my flight's not coming up on the screen. Did you take me to the right airport? We are at SFO, right? You didn't accidentally take me to the Oakland airport? Because I'm not flying out of Oakland, I'm flying out of San Francisco. Oh, shit. What if I accidentally clicked on LAX instead of SFO and I'm actually flying out of Los Angeles? That's a seven hour drive! How am I going to make my flight?"

"Jesus, calm. The fuck. Down." Dean tried to snatch the folder out of his brother's hand, but Sam yanked it out of his reach. The ensuing struggle ended in a flailing of arms and the contents of the folder scattered on the floor around them.

They stood staring angrily at each other, surrounded by Sam's fallen luggage and a group of Chinese tourists donning bright green t-shirts. After a moment of uncomfortable silence and awkward shifting, Sam finally let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so maybe I'm freaking out a little."

"Or maybe a lot." Dean knelt down and began picking up the fallen documents.

Sam grimaced and joined Dean on the floor. "Yeah, okay. It's just...this internship is kind of a big deal. I have the chance to work at the London offices of one of the US's largest law firms and if I screw this up it's going to be because I was incompetent at my job and NOT because I booked the wrong flight."

"I know, Sam." Dean picked up the dropped duffel as Sam reached for the larger suitcase. "I'm sure you're not the first person that's fucked up a flight. They've probably got a whole system in place for Winchester screw-ups. So don't worry, Sammy-"

"You're at the wrong terminal," a deep voice interrupted from behind.

There's a bizarre moment where Dean was half expecting a masked killer, knife-raised high, to be standing behind them. It's not, of course and, after doing what Dean feels is a comically slow turn to face the mystery voice, they see that it's a guy in unsurprisingly normal attire. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue tie and a tan overcoat folded over one arm. A plain black briefcase was tucked under an arm and in one hand was a sheet of paper that looked suspiciously like Sam's flight itinerary.

"Uhmmmm... what?" Sam replied in all his Stanford educated glory. "Is that mine?"

The stranger's head dipped slightly to the right as his eyes flicked back to the paper in hand. "If your name is 'Sam Winchester' then: yes, this is yours." Blue eyes looked steadily at Sam before then moving onto Dean. "It was on the floor."

Sam made no move to recover his document, in favor of staring dumbly. "I dropped it."

The other man, only slightly shorter than Dean, replied after a second's pause,"I picked it up."

Dean watched as his brother's eyebrows scrunched together in thought. Sam opened his mouth a few times, as though he wanted to say something, but eventually just settled on a confused frown. The group of brightly-clad tourists made their way by, smiling politely, to set up camp at a corner full of waiting chairs further down the room. "Ooookaay," Dean slowly looked between the newcomer and his oddly behaving brother, "are we done being creepy as fuck? Because you guys are being creepy as fuck and I know I'm sure as hell done." He held out his hand for the paper, catching Sam in the side with his elbow in the process.

The stranger stared at the point of contact between the brothers with the slightest of frowns on his face. Sam absently rubbed at his ribs as his eyes widened with hard fought recognition, "You're Professor Novak."

.The man who may-or-may-not-have-been-Professor Novak looked up warily at Sam before confirming with a simple "Yes."

Dean watched in confusion as a wide grin broke out across his brother's face. He had a feeling this would be one of those moments that would end in him reflecting on where he had gone wrong as an older brother.

"Oh, man." Sam took a half-step forward, completely ignoring Dean,"You were a guest lecturer in my International Human Rights course and ever since then I've been dying to attend your Treason and Trust lecture series."

The professor frowned as he handed the flight itinerary to Dean, "I would think that dying to attend anything would, ultimately, be counterproductive."

Sam's eyebrows briefly furrowed in confusion before his attention was drawn to a hard slap on his back and a forced laugh from Dean. "Hilarious! Now let's rewind ten years of my life and get back to that part where you said something about us being at the wrong terminal. Because," Dean shot a glare at Sam, "from what I've been made to understand, my baby brother here's future is hanging in the balance."

Dean didn't bother to hide his smugness as the reality and panic of their current situation trickled back into Sam's awareness. Sam glanced at his watch and groaned, "I've only got _two hours_before my flight leaves."

Professor Novak narrowed his eyes in confusion and accompanied it with a head tilt to the right. "I highly doubt it will take you two hours to reach the domestic terminals. And in my experience, unless you are traveling with contraband, airport security is not nearly as time-consumingly inconvenient as is popularly portrayed in mass media."

Dean quirked an eyebrow up at the suited man and decided to start off slowly, "Riiiiiiiight. But he's going to London and I'm pretty sure that still counts as an international flight."

"Yes, but according to Sam's itinerary he has a connecting flight in Chicago. Which means this leg of the trip, San Francisco to Chicago, is considered a domestic flight while Chicago to London will actually be international."

There was a beat of silence and Dean wasn't really convinced that the guy had made anything any clearer. But apparently it made a world of difference to Sam, who looked like he was itching to take notes on what was being said and who eventually let out a meek, "I thought Chicago was just a refueling stop or something."

"No. You'll disembark and catch a connecting flight."

Dean almost bent backwards in laughter and Sam punched him in the arm with an embarrassed, "Oh, like you knew any better, Dean. This is my first trip out of the country, how the hell was I supposed to know."

Dean shot his brother a grin that he knew Sam found irritatingly obnoxious. "Wait, wait, wait. So essentially what you're doing here is flying _within the United States_ in order to catch your actual flight to London?" Dean clapped a hand over his heart in mock hurt, " I should've known that damn air shuttle you booked was only the first betrayal."

Sam knew he was being baited, but still couldn't help himself from biting out in annoyance. "Okay, Dean, I get it. You hate airplanes and love your car. But just because _you_ have no ambitions to go abroad doesn't mean I don't."

"You've never been overseas?"

Dean prided himself on the fact that he didn't startle easily, but, and not that the Novak guy had exactly startled Dean, it was easy to forget that he wasn't just some traveling businessman standing a little too close. "If I can't get there in my '67 Chevy Impala," Dean jingled his keys, "then I figure it's not really anywhere worth visiting."

"I don't see how accessibility by a more inefficient vehicle of travel is indicative of the quality of any given destination."

Dean wasn't really sure what to make of the guy. His tone and the way his face conveyed a confused curiosity made it clear that at least he wasn't trying to intentionally be a smart-ass. "It's simple. If traveling is about going somewhere, then I care more about the _going_ than I do about the _somewhere_."

Dean met the unwavering blue gaze and suddenly found himself inexplicably and uncomfortably self-conscious. It wasn't like he was being particularly forthcoming (Dean's had to defend his roadtripping habit throughout his life) nor was the way he's being stared at overtly changed. But for the eternity of a second- Dean thinks that maybe it's because this Professor Novak person hasn't blinked in the past minute- it feels like all of existence has turned its sight to focus on Dean.

So Dean did what Dean does best: he grabbed a pamphlet laying forgotten on a nearby waiting chair and waved it in Sam's face. "Hey, they've got this 'unaccompanied minors' service where a flight attendant watches you and everything. Maybe we should've signed you up for that."

"I'm not sure your brother would meet the age requirements."

Dean thought that this time the guy _was_ intentionally being a smart-ass and laughed in Sam's face. "The name's Dean."

Green eyes held blue as the other man gripped the offered hand just this side of too-tight. "You may call me Castiel."

Dean tried not to spend any time to dwelling on the way Castiel's expression had tipped from a lot less confused to a lot more curious. Thankfully, Sam was there to combat any awkward tension by flailing forward to clasp his former professor's hand in his own the moment Dean had let go.

Giving a slightly frantic shake of his hand, Sam managed a "Thank you so much Professor Novak. If there's anyway I could pay you back, if you need an assistant or something, please just let me know. You can't imagine how much of a life-saver you are."

"You underestimate my imagination." Castiel murmured before pulling away and breezing off towards the back of the terminal.

Both brothers blinked after Castiel for a moment before Dean finally shook his head and picked up the duffel bag, tossing it at Sam. "Hurry up. I really just need you to get on this damn plane so I can work on pretending my brother didn't just nearly wet himself because he ran into his _professor_ at the airport." He gave Sam a disparaging look ,"No brother of mine should ever be _that_happy when meeting someone with the title 'Professor'" As an afterthought he added, "unless it's followed by a singular 'X'."

Sam couldn't quite hide his smile as he muttered, "Shut-up. What're you even going to do with yourself once I'm all the way across the pond?"

Dean snorted, "The same thing I do even when you _are_ around; I'm gonna take my baby and we're gonna ramble on."


	2. Lawrence

It's barely seven in the morning when Mary Winchester found an angel figurine made entirely of pistachio nuts sitting on her dining room table. She didn't need to check her front yard to know that her oldest son was back in town.

Humming softly to herself, Mary turned to her kitchen and began preparing breakfast. A stack of pancakes, pile of bacon, pot of coffee, and still-no-Dean later, she finally made her way to the front porch and looked across the lawn. The sidewalk pavement was darkened with water draining from the driveway, where Dean was drying off his mother's freshly washed station wagon.

"Dean Winchester, washing your mother's car before breakfast? You'd think you were grounded or something." Mary slipped on her sandals and made her way over to where her son was wiping wet hands on his jeans. "Good morning, Dean," she said, leaning up to peck him on the cheek, "thank you for taking care of my car, but I'd appreciate it if you'd get inside and let me take care of my firstborn by stuffing him with food."

Dean let out a relaxed laugh and leaned down to return his mother's kiss with a tight hug. "Mornin' Mom. Let me finish up here and then I'll be happy to take all that... bacon?," and here Dean raised his eyebrows in question. Mary nodded, Dean grinned, "off your hands."

Mary smiled up at her son and rubbed a thumb across his cheek at an imagined smudge of dirt. "Alright, honey, but if you take too long, I can't promise that there'll be any left."

Dean laughed as his mother retreated back to the house, picking up his abandoned cloth to continue the job at hand.

It wasn't until later, once breakfast was finished and Dean was helping his mother clean the dishes that the comfortable and easy domesticity of being back in his childhood home- and it's _childhood_ home because Lawrence stopped being '_home_' for Dean a long time ago- finally hits.

And it's unfortunate.

Domesticity always itches at Dean, makes him want to skip town as soon as he notices it. If he were the type to indulge in self reflection, Dean suspects the name "Cassie" might pop up in an attempt to explain his discomfort with settling down.

"You look like you've got a bit of something on your mind." Mary drained the sink as they finished the last of the dishes. She made a point to move away from Dean, wiping down the counter and giving her son a bit of space.

"Just glad to be home, Mom."

Mary raised an eyebrow with a vague, "Mmhhmmm" to let her son know that his bullshit was noted, but that he wouldn't be pressed on the issue. "Any plans for while you're in town?"

Dean finished arranging the dishes on the drying rack and then turned around to lean against the counter. "Thinking I'll stop by the garage and check if they've got anything going on."

"Probably a good idea since your father's off visiting Bobby this week. I'm sure they'd be glad to have you, darling." Mary draped a damp rag she had been holding over the sink faucet and dried off her hands before turning and pulling up a chair at the dining table. "Now," she said, reaching over to pull the novelty angel figurine from that morning towards her, "where'd you find a treasure like this?"

Dean let out a snort of amusement and abandoned his spot at the counter in favor of a seat at the table next to his mother. "Seriously? A truckstop in New Mexico." He gave one cream colored nutshell wing a little flick. "I think I saw signs for the largest pistachio nut somewhere along the way."

"Well then," Mary picked the angel up gently and made her way to the display case in the living room where she had begun collecting all of Dean's various spoils of travel, "it'll look fantastic between my Angel of Large Balls of Twine and my Angel of Petrified Forests." She winked at Dean before continuing. "Now, if only you could find me an Angel of Mysterious Spots and an Angel of UFOs then my holy collection of American Roadtrip Traps That My Oldest Son Has Never Actually Been To will finally be complete."

Dean grinned along in good humor. "I dunno, I think I'd hold out for the Angel of Bigfoot."

The corners of Mary's eyes were all crinkles and fondness as she smiled at the display case in front of her, idly wondering whether or not she'd need to install more shelves. She watched as Dean settled onto one of the recliners and stretched out, hands folded over his stomach. Mary settled into the second recliner next to him.

Placing a hand on the arm of Dean's chair she took a deep breath and started talking. "I know you hate having 'talks' as a general rule," Dean opened his mouth to interrupt and Mary held up a finger, "_so_ we're going to make this easy and you're going to shut up and listen while I do all of the talking."

Dean shut his mouth.

"I'm not sure Sam knows this, but I've been keeping in touch with Jessica and it sounds like things are getting pretty serious between her and your brother. They're probably going to get married one day and I need you to know _now_ that I'm never going to pressure you to do the same." She looked up and made eye contact with her son. "But I also need you to realize that settling in a _place_ isn't the same thing as settling on a _person_ and anyone who tells you otherwise doesn't deserve you anyways. I mean,_yes_ you are going to face more difficulties and have to fight a little harder to make things work, but you need to stop using your wanderlust lifestyle as an excuse against intimacy because, really, you're just being lazy. " Mary stood up and ruffled Dean's hair before heading towards the stairs. "So, I've put together a care package with all of Sam's embarrassing childhood photo albums, awards, blankie... the lot. I'd really appreciate it if you'd drop it off at his & Jess' apartment the next time you're in the area."

Dean shut his eyes, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back further into the recliner. "I never told you about Cassie."

His mother's voice drifted down from the second floor. "You went on that trip to Ohio with your father and I know things were rough for awhile there, but we _are_ still married."

"I didn't tell him, either."

"You didn't have to."

A few days later found Dean under a Pontiac Firebird that was leaking coolant. The job was straightforward and simple and didn't make Dean want to rip out anyone's throat.

Unlike the middle-aged man wearing an orange NASCAR jacket that Dean could see angrily waving a piece of paper in the receptionist's face.

"I looked online and it says a job like this should cost _half_ as much as what you're trying to get me to pay," the man's accusatory voice drifted out to Dean from where the side door was propped open, "I demand a second opinion!"

Deciding to take pity on the poor high schooler, who was only working reception as extra credit for his auto-shop class, Dean rolled himself out from under the gorgeous car and stood up, wiping sweat out of his eyes. "Hey, douchenozzle, you can't get a second opinion after your damn problem's already been fixed." He snatched the paper from the man's grip and skimmed over what looked like a forum post from **DIY Auto Repair**. Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, buddy, sure you could've gotten this price at MacGyver's Auto Shop on the corner of Home Depot and go fuck yourself."

Slamming the paper on the reception counter with an irritated "Duct tape. Really?", Dean opted to not deal with the man's infuriated retaliation and instead slipped into the breakroom/office combo tucked behind the front desk. He would've felt bad about leaving the high schooler to deal with the mess, but figured the experience could be considered some sort of raw human development.

And anyways, only people like _Sam_ went around doing 'extra credit'.

Dean grabbed a paper cup and filled it at the water cooler before dropping onto the lumpy couch. It didn't take long for another mechanic- one who was an actual employee on the payroll- to join him in the backroom. Dean flashed Donnie one of his wide open-lipped smiles and patted the cushion next to him.

Donnie just shook his head in exasperation. "It's probably a good thing that Mary put her foot down when John tried to get you to join the military right out of high school because I'm not sure even a general would've been able to drill that attitude out of you."He tossed a set of keys towards Dean's head and Dean managed to not spill his cup of water all over himself as he caught the keyring before it smacked into his face. "You're also lucky your pop raised you to be one hell of a mechanic because I sure as hell wouldn't put up with this kind of bull otherwise."

Dean shook the keys in Donnie's face. "Did I win a new car for my awesome customer service?"

"That's right. You won an all expenses paid trip too."

Dean waved his hand for Donnie to continue.

"You're taking the tow truck out to pick up a Mini Cooper that busted down over by Brown State Fishing and Wildlife."

"Oh man, please tell me it's some rich hottie who's stranded out in the middle of nowhere." Dean got up to frown at the large Kansas map hanging above the water cooler. "That's nearly two hours in backcountry, practically Nebraska.. There've gotta be at least a dozen other shops that are a helluva lot closer than we are."

Donnie collapsed on the couch that Dean had vacated. "Yep. But the Mini's owner caught a ride to Hiawatha where my buddy owns a repair shop and all their tow trucks are unavailable. So I volunteered, seeing as how apparently you had nothing better to do than piss off customers. And anyways, I thought you loved the whole backwoods driving thing. I thought you weren't living unless you were 'out on the road with your baby.'"

Dean shook the keys again. "_Not_ my baby."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go and see reception for details."

Dean gave him a mock salute before heading out of the room. He didn't miss Donnie's muttered, "One day you'll grow up and have to get a stable job. When that time comes I hope to Lord Almighty that you learn a thing or two about how to deal with other people because they'll be the ones paying for your livelihood."

Dean thought he deserved a medal for the way he didn't slam the door on his way out. But then again, he was in Lawrence and being back always felt a little like being at the fringes of a black hole. Even if his mother fought her hardest to let Dean know she was perfectly happy with the life he had chosen, the city of Lawrence itself had a way of pulling Dean in. Of reminding him how simple life could be. How _stable_. Hell, his parents' house, the home he grew up in, was in a neighborhood full of white-picket fences. He turned to pick up the folder being held out to him by the high-schooler-whose-name-he-didn't-really-give-enough-of-a-fuck-to-remember and wondered, not for the first time, what it'd be like to actually live here, where people knew his name and family. He could take care of his parents as they grew older. He could raise children that wouldn't grow up to be NASCAR jacket wearing douchenozzles.

Black and silver caught his eye as he climbed into the tow truck.  
He could have a driveway to park the Impala.

And all the neighbors would comment on how gorgeous she looked because Dean would actually have time to keep her spotless. He could keep her maintained to perfection. He could save up to get her all the best parts and she would be the envy of classic enthusiasts everywhere and people would want him to take her to auto shows and he'd keep her under a tarp to prevent sun damage and of course he'd have to get a second car so he wouldn't overuse his baby and shorten her lifespan-

Dean swore he could taste a bit of vomit in his mouth.

"Sorry, Sweetheart. Guess you'll just have to put up with my rough and tumble lifestyle because I'm sure as hell not gonna keep you caged in the suburbs." Dean started up the tow truck and headed off towards the Nebraska border, mapping out the quickest route. He'd been back in Lawrence for a grand total of three days and already the town was suffocating him with memories of his past and imagined future.

…...

**_*BACK IN BLACK, I HIT THE SACK I BEEN TOO LONG-*_**

Dean fumbled for his phone, head still submerged in the sea of a surprisingly comfortable motel room comforter. He hit the call button and yawned into the receiver.

**[** Mom said she gave you a care package for Jess and I before you left Lawrence _three weeks_ ago. **]**

"Mornin' to you too, Sammy."

**[** 'Morning'? It's not even midnight. **]**

Dean squinted out at the bright red glow of numbers on the nightstand. "It looks a lot more like two a.m. to me."

**[** _What the hell_, Dean? You're supposed to be heading to California, not the fucking East Coast. Where exactly are you? **]**

"Jersey." He muffled another yawn against the crook of his elbow. "And anyways, I was told there was no rush."

**[** I don't think she meant a month long detour to hangout with Snookie. **]** There was a brief moment of hushed muttering before a female voice took over the line.

**[** Heeeeeey, Dean, it's Jess. I know, surprise! Your brother hasn't scared me away yet. **]** There was a muffled "Hey!" in the background. **[** But anyways. What Sam meant to say is, 'We really appreciate the fact that you volunteered to hand-deliver our care package when, really, we could've just had it shipped. And seeing as how this package was meant for my lovely girlfriend, Jessica, and since _she_ doesn't think it's terribly important, then please, dear brother that I admire so very much, take your time.' **]**

Dean could barely hear Sam's indignation over Jessica's laughter. "Well, no one told me the package was for _you_." Finally managing to pull himself into a sitting position, Dean leaned against the headboard. "I can be in Cali by the end of the week."

There was more laughing before Jessica replied, **[** I may love your family, Dean, but you better leave that 'Cali' nonsense at the border. Here's your brother. **]**

**[** Really, Dean? Jess says something and all of a sudden you get your ass in gear? What about brotherly love? **]**

Dean swung his legs off the bed and sat at the edge, "Brotherly love versus a hot blond? Hot blond wins hands down."

**[** Oh? Hot blond? I thought you were into hot brunettes. Or was that just the hot flavor of summer? **]**

"What's this about brunettes?" Dean sniffed his armpits and grimaced, hooking a foot through a strap of his military grade duffel and pulling it towards him.

**[** The 'Hot Brunette'? From when you took me to the airport a few months ago this summer? Whatever, it's not important. Just - **]**

"Wait, wait, wait... are you talking about your professor?" Dean pulled his toothpaste and brush free from the depths of his bag. "Didn't know you had a Mrs. Robinson kink going on."

Sam spluttered, **[** _Professor Novak?_ No, dude, what? I'm talking about the girl from when we were sitting in traffic. Sounds like _you're_ the one with a Mrs. Robinson kink. **]**

Dean fished out his shaving cream and razor and attempted to carry everything to the bathroom in the crook of his free arm. "Doesn't count if it's not my professor."

He could hear Sam's eye roll through the phone. **[** Just let me know when you're back in the same timezone. **]**

There was a soft click as the call disconnected and Dean, already slathering shaving cream onto his face, leaned out the bathroom door to toss the cell onto the bed.

The clock displayed a glowing **2:37AM** by the time Dean finished with his morning routine and flopped back down next to his phone. He silently stared up at the water-stained ceiling for a full minute before letting out an exasperated huff, rolling towards the nightstand and pulling open the drawer. It contained the expected copy of the bible and phonebook, but not much else. He got up and began searching the room. Ten minutes later he had found a copy of _Catch-22_ where it had fallen into the space between the back of the dresser and the wall.

Ideally, Dean would've just packed up and taken the opportunity to get an early start since he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep, but he was running on empty and New Jersey was one of two states that had a law prohibiting non-truckers from pumping their own gas. Which meant that gas stations _closed_ and Dean would have to wait for an attendant to show up in the morning so that _they_ could pump his gas.

So, Dean propped himself up on the bed and thanked the gods of Shit Forgotten in Motels that he wasn't stuck with another Stephen King novel (he'd found _Pet Sematary_ in five different motels) or a puzzle book with all the answers already written in.

"Alright, Joe, show me what you got."


	3. Stanford

Dean's pretty much the greatest brother a massive nerd like Sam could ever hope to have. Or, at least, Dean figures he is because there's no other explanation for why he'd let Sam and Jess- pretty though she may be- drag him to a debate on _Foreign Aid_. And not just any debate, but a debate between two scumbag politicians that Dean thought the world would be better off without.

"Why are we standing in line for this? Why is there a _line_ for this?" Dean thumped his head against the shiny granite of the lobby wall. The line of people waiting to get into the auditorium zig-zagged across the open space of the room.

Sam picked up an information packet from a nearby table. "Katrina? Haiti? The Tohoku earthquake and tsunami? Foreign aid is kind of a popular topic right now. Not to mention elections are right around the corner."

"Regardless of who wins, at the end of the day we're still going to be served a heaping plate of bullshit. The only difference will be how it's cooked." Looking around, Dean was at least pleased to see that half of the attendees were dressed casually, having come straight from class.

"That's why there'll be two experts on stage who'll be there to fact check." Sam looked up from where he was flipping through the info-packet, "And anyways, if you were just going to complain the whole time, why'd you even come?"

"Because I'm an awesome big brother."

Jessica had been chatting with the small group of people in the line in front of them, but turned around with a laugh at Dean's comment. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that after the panel there's going to be a mixer with an open bar and catered buffet."

Dean flashed her a smile, "Can't say 'no' to free food and drinks."

Jessica smiled back before returning to her previous conversation. Luckily for Dean, they didn't have to wait much longer before the auditorium doors opened. The volume of chatter rose as the line began moving forward and Jess rejoined them, hooking her arm through Sam's and happily relating the discussion she had just had with the group who had, apparently, been members of the Peace Corps.

Dean tried to remember what the last movie he'd actually gotten to see at a theater had been. He knew for a fact that he had seen a Batman movie at some point, but was pretty sure there were at least two that had come out in the past handful of years and couldn't be say which one he'd watched. On the other hand, a ton of comic-book movies had been released recently so he figured he was safe in assuming the last movie he'd seen had been a proper action flick.

"Really, Dean?" Sam's voice pulled him back to the situation at hand. "We haven't even found seats yet and you're already mentally checking yourself out?"

Jessica swatted at Sam's arm lightly. "Let him be. Unlike us, he's not studying law or public policy. You can't blame him for not being immediately interested in a discussion about international policy and funds." She stage-whispered at Dean, "Just be glad Sam's not forcing you to attend one of his _Tax Law_ seminars. I was mentally singing songs from _Schoolhouse Rock_ to tide myself over."

"You were singing educational songs to keep yourself entertained?" Dean snorted, "Awww man, you and Sam are just _perfect_ for each other."

Sam stepped on his foot. "Says the guy who can't even recite the Preamble without singing it."

Dean shrugged. "That shit was catchy."

Jess hummed. "_I'm just a bill. Yes, I'm only a bill..._"

The sound of chatter significantly decreased once they finally stepped into the auditorium, which was at least three times the size of any movie theater Dean had ever been in. It had a high vaulted ceiling, balcony, and looked as though it could easily seat more than a thousand.

Dean let out a low whistle. "This is one hell of a venue."

"It's the largest one on campus," Sam nodded as Jessica tugged him along, maneuvering around people and moving them towards seats somewhere near the center.

They finally picked a set of seats about ten rows from the stage. It was close enough that they could clearly see the event crew doing a bit of last-minute set-up. There was a polished wooden podium on either side of the stage, angled to face both each other and the audience with a long table in the center.

Once the auditorium had been filled and the doors closed, a smartly dressed woman finally came out to the podium and began speaking. She started off giving a standard welcome speech with a special thanks to the donors as the lights dimmed and a large screen behind her lit up.

"Dude," Dean whispered at Sam, "I totally thought that was a wall. That's a fucking massive screen. They should definitely use this as a movie theater."

"_Shut up, Dean._" Sam hissed back. After a moment he smirked and added, "And we totally hold movie screenings here sometimes, it's awesome."

The screen was showing a large world map that zoomed into a country, flashed a range of images depicting culture and living standards before zooming out and repeating with a different area. The announcer began setting the context for the discussion by going over the history and politics of foreign aid.

The lights slowly brightened as she began introducing the panelists ("Mr. Zachariah Adler") and Dean lamented the fact that a lack of dimmed lights meant he'd have a harder time napping unnoticed. He took a moment to check out the people around him ("Mr. Dick Roman") and noted that people definitely _could_ have both the beauty and the brains. Dean had just assumed ("Professor Novak") that Jessica and Sam- and Dean only included Sam because being good-looking was a confirmed Curse of the Winchesters- were flukes in a place like Stanford which was chock-full of brainiacs ("Professor Crowley").

Dean saw Jessica lean forward, propping her elbows on both her armrests. She raised her eyebrows and turned her head towards Dean and Sam before reaching near her feet to pull a small notepad and pen out of her purse. She quickly jotted something down and passed it to Sam, who did an awkward eyeroll/snort combo. Dean leaned over to see what was written-  
_Prof. Novak is def a hottie w/ a body. Mrs. Robinson kinks all around!_  
-and snapped his eyes to the stage.

There, sitting in one of the two seats at the table, was Castiel looking as ruffled and suited-up as before. Dean grinned and let out a huff of amusement at how stiff he looked. The other man at the table, whose nameplate stated **Crowley**, had leaned over with a hand over the microphone in front of him and said something. Cas shook his head slightly, tugging his tie loose with a frown as Crowley smirked.

Dean kind of felt sorry for the guy. He took Jess' notepad and pen from Sam and scribbled out _He's gonna get eaten alive up there._

Sam shook his head and replied, _He's at the top of his field. Holds lectures and consultations for a living. Don't underestimate him._

Dean shrugged and tossed the pen and notepad back towards Jessica who scowled at him and tucked both items into the front pocket of Sam's button-up shirt, for easy access. They all turned their attention back to the stage as the rest of the audience clapped politely as the two faces Dean recognized from attack ads on the television each took a podium.

Dean pumped his fist in victory as the lights over the audience dimmed to nearly complete darkness. He leaned back and tried to get as settled into his seat as possible, tilting his head back and folding his hands over his stomach. He ignored the dirty look he received from a stranger in the seat next to him as he accidentally bumped their elbow while prepping to zone out- because Castiel Novak may have been eyecandy with his tousled hair and piercing eyes, but it wasn't worth having to look at Dick and Zachariah for the duration of the debate.

He nudged Sam and whispered, "Wake me up if something exciting happens."

"Shush. They're actually starting now."

Dean grabbed Sam's forearm, "And by 'exciting' I mean _my_ kind of exciting."

"Yeah, okay, be quiet."

Dean tightened his grip, "And by '_my_ kind of exciting' I mean 'if someone's about to get punched out'."

Sam brushed Dean's hand off his arm with a glare and a firm, "Seriously."

Dean shrugged again and closed his eyes.

He managed to doze off for a total of twenty minutes before the person behind him sneezed on his neck and startled him awake. Rolling his shoulders back he waved off their hushed apology and let his eyes readjust to the lighting in the room. Dick Roman was currently speaking at his podium and Dean wondered if he should even put in the effort to pretend to care about what was being said or just take one of the NyQuil gel caps that he knew Jessica had in her purse.

"… capitalism has worked well for us. Each McDonalds or Starbucks that we open in a developing country immediately boosts their economy by providing new jobs with a stable and established company." Dick's lips stretched wide, baring his teeth in his trademark smile that never managed to reach his eyes.

"No, no, no," Zachariah rebutted, competing with Dick for the title of Who Dean Would Be The Least Likely To Save In The Zombie Apocalypse, "economic growth needs to happen _organically_. I'm all for our government providing a helping hand here and there, but the truth is: there are plenty of countries that have succeeded on their own. All that these other countries "in need of aid" really _need_ is direction." Dean thought that Zachariah was definitely winning the competition; each word he said was grating and dipped in a smug elitism that made his skin crawl. "They may have to make some tough sacrifices, but if they follow our counsel without complaint, their future will be set."

"If I may interrupt." And _that_ was a voice that Dean thought might actually make attending bullshit political debates worth it. "The independent research and data that you both presented earlier may support your individual claims, but I see now that they lacked relevant context which I think is important in-"

"Excuse me," Zachariah cut in, "Professor… Novak, is it? I don't believe you're actually a part of this debate. You're here to inform us of inaccuracies in our arguments, not to give us your _opinion_ on how we present those arguments."

Dean watched as the balding politician sneered at Cas before returning to his talking points and simply steamrolling over the professor's attempts to clarify his concerns. He definitely felt bad for the guy, but then again he'd called it right from the start; the professor didn't stand a chance against the two public speaking powerhouses he was sharing the stage with. And while Dean noted that his face hadn't given away any sign of having been humiliated, Castiel was sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

The debate picked up and Dean actually found himself, against all odds, fascinated. That it was Sam's former professor that had caught his attention, and not the actual politicians and their arguments, wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the _why_.

In the next fifteen minutes, there were several more instances of the situation that Dean had just witnessed: arguments would be given, Castiel would try to interrupt, Dick or Zachariah would talk over him, and then Cas would shut up and continue to watch silently.

Rinse and Repeat.

Dean couldn't really explain the rising indignation he felt grow with each time Castiel was shot-down. In truth, he didn't care much about the entire thing and really just wanted _out_; screw the fact that he'd have to climb over a dozen people to do so. But Dean couldn't help but be impressed. Cas took each hit and rolled with it, only to get up knowing full well the outcome wouldn't be much different.

It was something he could respect.

Dean glanced next to him. Sam had a vaguely horrified look on his face while Jessica seemed suspended between disbelief and anger. He nudged his brother with an elbow. "Sooooo… it kind of looks like your hero's getting the political equivalent of the shit beaten out of him."

Sam blinked at him, as though just now remembering that Dean had been sitting by him the entire time. Eyes quickly flicking back to the stage, Sam pulled out the notepad and pen from his shirt pocket.

_Novak and Crowley have just been treated as glorified tape recorders. Haven't gotten a word in besides reading out base statistics and facts. _

Jess leaned over to add something to the notepad, but stopped as Castiel once again attempted to join the argument.

"It seems that your focus is more on what is best for our own government. Neither of your suggestions has taken into account the fact that these countries have their own culture and lifestyle. It was my understanding that the point of foreign aid is to help. Not to take over and govern."

Dick let out a loud laugh and wide grin. "That's _exactly_ what you'd expect from a Berkeley professor."

Zachariah joined in with a look bordering on disgust. "If only the economy ran on bleeding hearts and naïve optimism."

There was a loud screech, amplified ten-fold by a nearby mic, that had Dean clapping his hands over his ears. It took him a moment to realize the sound had resulted from Castiel's chair being pushed back as he stood up.

It was completely silent as Cas stood stock-still and stared down at his hands, which were flat on the table.

When he started speaking, his voice was barely above a growl. "I am not here to win the popular vote." Cas lifted his head to slowly and deliberately look both Dick and then Zachariah in the eyes. His blue eyes were hardened and Dean could see the restrained fury in the tension of his jaw. "_You_ are free to twist the facts so that they are 'palatable' for your respective constituents, but _I_ will not join you in hiding the realities of the situation." Dean watched as Cas looked back to his hands, taking a moment to breathe. "I feel that my time might be better served elsewhere"

He then proceeded to pick up his folders and walk off the stage.

Before anyone could really process his exit, Crowley tapped the mic sitting on the table he now had to himself. "Just going to put this out there: _I'll_ help you hide whatever reality you want if I get his paycheck."

The entire auditorium broke out in loud whispers and Dean stood up, smoothing out the creases in his jeans.

Sam grabbed his arm. "It's not over yet."

He shrugged and whispered back, "I can' take anymore of this shit, _especially_ without Hot Brunette."

"That was the girl in the _Yaris_."

Dean threw a fist in the air and said at normal volume, "Solidarity!" before giving Sam and Jess a dramatic wink and stepping on several feet as he made his way back to the aisle and out of the auditorium.

He re-entered the lobby to find that it had been converted into the promised buffet area, which confirmed to Dean that his ideas were always the best. He also figured that, being the first and only person there, it was his god-ordained duty to taste-test everything they offered.

Several people filtered out of the auditorium, having obviously agreed with Dean's flawless logic, but it wasn't until Dean was refilling his plate from the personal pie section of the dessert table that Sam and Jess joined him.

Sam set a plate of lasagna down on their table. "So… that was crazy."

Jess nodded and put down a plate laden with mashed potatoes and gravy. "Bat-shit."

"Yeah," Dean said around a mouthful of food, "let's talk about the fact that when you invited me to this you specifically said 'you might even enjoy it, _Dean_.'"

Sam shrugged his shoulders almost sheepishly, "I figured since you called Professor Novak 'hot' that you might be interested."

"I also called Lucy Liu hot. Didn't see you dragging me to any _Ally McBeal_ events." Dean took a forkful of Sam's lasagna, "Though your professor was pretty bad-ass." After a second's consideration, Dean added, "I mean, _after_ the forty-five minutes of verbal bitch-slapping that Cas took."

"He was a _guest_ lecturer. I've never actually had him as a full-time professor. But yeah, I'm surprised that he managed to keep it together for so long."

Dean nodded. "Well, y'know what they say: 'Patience is a virtue… in bed.'"

Sam flicked a bit of mushroom in his direction. "Also, 'Cas'? I'm pretty sure it's considered a social faux pas to call someone by a nickname you made up when you're not even friends with them."

"Tell that to Brangelina."

"Portmanteaus of famous couples don't count."

"Hey," Jess stood up, "This is fascinating banter and all, but I think I just saw Rebecca so I'll be right back." She leaned down to peck Sam on the cheek, "Try not to rip each other's throats out." Waving at someone across the room, she took off.

Sam stared after her with sappy eyes of adoration. "Hey Dean, in all honesty... I know this whole thing really isn't your scene, but whenever you're in town it's always just the two of us and," he turned the sappy eyes towards his brother and continued in a quieter voice, "I just really want you and Jess to spend more time together."

"Don't worry, Sammy, I'm pretty invested in making sure you don't end up with some crazy-ass bitch because, in the end, _I'm_ the one who's going to have to deal with the mess."

Sam looked at him unhappily, "_Dean_."

"_Which means_ it's inevitable that we'll have to hang out so that I can properly vet her."

Before Sam could tease Dean about how he really needed to stop trying to hide just much of a big softie he actually was, there was a bit of commotion as Zachariah, Dick, and Crowley all made an appearance.

Dean felt a fleeting moment of disappointment when it was clear that Castiel wouldn't be in attendance. He hadn't really thought about whether or not he had any expectations in regards to running into the guy again. But then again, Dean figured someone should give the guy a high-five for sticking up for his values.

And if Dean was volunteering, then it was because he was just that kind of guy.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for all the politics. I tried really hard not to get too boring, but apologize if it totally turned you guys off.  
And I know it's still a bit of a slow build, but  
*SPOILER ALERT* Next chapter? Dean and Cas actually interact.


	4. Bay Street

A/N: ughhhhh can I just write pure dialogue? Because dialogue is just so much simpler than all the stuff surrounding it.

* * *

Dean shifted his phone from one ear to the other, "Your mom's allowed to date other guys, Ben, it's been years now."

**[** I know she is and she _has_. But "Matt The Doctor"- **]** and Dean could imagine the face Ben would make to go with his mocking tone **[** -is such a dick. **]**

"That's rough buddy, but I like to think that your mom's got good taste in men." Dean stretched out on Sam and Jess' couch. "And wasn't your mom dating a 'Matt The Doctor' the last time you pulled that Parent Trap stunt?"

**[** It's the same guy. He's going to fly us out to California for vacation. **]**

"And... you hate California?"

**[** I hate the fact that it's not with _you_, but with "Matt- **]**

"-_The Doctor_', I know." Dean looked up when Sam came into the room and stepped around moving boxes half-way filled. He gave Dean a questioning frown while handing him an open bottle of beer. "Look, Ben," Sam gave him a nod of 'ahhh I see', "I'm really not sure what you want me to do here."

**[** I dunno. Can't you like... pick me up and I can just hang out with you and then Mom can just go on her stupid vacation without me? **]**

Dean closed his eyes and took a long swallow of his beer as Sam sat on his shins. The hope in Ben's voice was kind of heartbreaking. "You know I'd never turn down a chance to see ya, kid. But your mom-"

**[** I'll convince her! I swear, Dean, she used to let you take me to stuff without her all the time, she totally can't say 'no'. **]**

"I'm not sure baseball practice while I was living with you guys really counts." Dean tossed Sam the remote and his brother flipped through channels on mute.

**[** At least let me _try_. **]**

Dean sighed, "Alright, if your mom says-"

**[** Thanks Dean, the vacation's in a couple months so don't make any plans! **]**

There was a click and then silence as Ben abruptly hung up. Dean chugged the rest of his beer and reached over to place the empty bottle on the coffee table.

"Ben mad at Lisa?" Sam asked, pretending he was actually interested in the commercials and not Dean's personal life.

Dean wiggled his feet and Sam pinched his ankle. "He wants me to save him from the Big Bad Boyfriend."

Sam lifted a hip and farted on Dean's leg, getting a pillow to the face for the effort. "Haven't they just recently moved to Michigan? And this is the first time she's getting serious with another guy since the two of you broke up, right? Soooo those are big changes and the poor kid's probably having a rough time trying to adjust."

"Tell me about it." Dean pulled his legs from under Sam and put his feet in Sam's face.

Sam punched him on the underside of his knee and asked, "Are you driving out to Battle Creek, then?"

"Only if Lisa okays it." Dean stood up and grabbed his empty bottle, walking into the kitchen where Jessica was sitting at the dining table on her laptop with copies of journal articles spread around her.

"Wait a minute," Sam appeared at the kitchen entrance, carrying his own empty bottle, "you promised Jess and I that you'd help us move to our new place in a couple weeks."

Jess looked up from her reading, flyaway strands of hair framing her face, "Which reminds me: we need to go to IKEA today."

"Even if Lisa said 'yes' right now, I still wouldn't be driving out for another month or so." Dean dropped the beer bottle into their recycling bin. "Please tell me your new place is either on the first floor or has an elevator, because this whole third-floor-winding-stairs thing you guys have got going on is gonna be a bitch."

Jessica started gathering her papers and replied, "_Definitely _has an elevator this time. Also, I'm going to go take a shower and then we're heading to Bay Street."

Sam turned to look at her, "We have an IKEA in town. Why do you want to go across the bay?"

She dropped all her materials on the living room coffee table. "Because Bay Street also has a Pottery Barn and Barnes and Nobles."

"Oh, and I'm sure your decision has nothing to do with the fact that it also has a Lush."

"Maybe," she called out from the bathroom, "but it _definitely _has nothing to do with the Victoria's Secret."

Sam started looking for his wallet and Dean gave him a thumbs up. "You're coming with us, Dean."

"What? Why? I really don't need to go lingerie shopping with you and your girlfriend. That is definitely on the universal list of Things That Are Not Sexy."

"Because _our_ car is full of boxes and _you've_still got space in your trunk. So unless you're going to let me drive..."

"Ha!" Dean twirled his car keys around his finger. "I barely let you touch her on the Kansas backroads, you really think I'm gonna trust you around angry California drivers? In your dreams."

Sam shook his head, "Alright, just warning you, Jess gets a little crazy when she's around home decor."

Jess popped her head around the corner, "I heard that. Also, when we're done shopping, can you remember to double-check that the computer was fully wiped? There's an e-waste pick-up tonight."

"I can take care of that." Dean looked up from where he was rummaging through the fridge to find Sam and Jessica staring at him. "What?"

Jess shook her head, shrugged, and went to take her shower. Sam looked after her, betrayed. "No offense, but... you're constantly on the road and work with cars. What do you know about computers?" As an afterthought he added, "Other than internet porn."

Dean stamped down the swelling insecurities he refused to admit he had. "Well, I know that an electromagnet made from a car battery is strong enough to corrupt a hard drive and that, still, most data is recoverable if you _really _want it bad enough so your best bet is taking a hammer to all the sensitive bits."

"Where'd you learn that?" Dean wasn't really surprised when Sam's tone was more suspicious and bewildered than awed.

"How do you think I survive? Ash has gotten me a few hookups doing odd jobs at tech repair shops," Dean explained. He didn't mention the fact that he'd been stealing paid channels from their next-door neighbors since he was a teenager just because all of Sam's classmates kept talking about The Disney Channel. Nor did Dean remind him that _he _had been the one to help Sam and his friends when they had gotten stuck on their Rube Goldberg project for physics. Outloud he added, "I found an electrical engineering textbook at a motel once."

Sam let out a small laugh, "I hardly see you read anything outside of skin mags and you expect me to believe you actually opened a textbook?" He looked up at the clock. "Jess will probably be ready in half an hour, do you mind if we just eat lunch there?"

Dean slammed the fridge shut and headed out of the apartment. "I'll be waiting in the car."

Sam gave him an irritated look, "Dude, if you're that hungry we've got leftovers."

Dean ignored him and went down the winding stairs to the Impala parked at the curb out front. He sat in the driver's side and pulled a heavy book titled _Fundamentals of Applied Electromagnetics_ from beneath the bench-seat. He looked at the cover and conceded that maybe his brother was right. "A freaking textbook. I should've stolen the Vonnegut when I had the chance." He flipped open to the table of contents, "Alright, _Magnetostatics_. Sounds like a lesson the X-Men should've taken."

Dean settled into his seat and started reading, only stuffing the book back under the seat once Sam and Jessica finally made an appearance. Jess called shotgun, Sam claimed eternal-shotgun, Jess referenced lingerie, and Sam got in the backseat.

The majority of the drive was filled with moving traffic, classic rock, idle chatter, and Sam complaining about leg cramps.

"So let me get this straight," Dean said as he pulled into a parking garage, "you're not actually planning to _buy _anything here?"

Jess tapped her fingers against the edge of the seat. "Not any furniture. I brought measurements with me so we can at least start figuring out what's possible, but we might end up getting some of the smaller decor stuff."

Once Dean had parked, Sam got out and made a show of stretching his legs, "We can ask to borrow Brady's truck and come back for the larger stuff next time."

Dean hung back to lock the doors and check his cell phone, which he had felt vibrate on the drive over.

**[** **From: Ben**

_Engaging with target. Radio silence until killshot confirmed. BUT KEEP YOUR PHONE ON! _**]**

Dean smiled and took his phone off vibrate. He proceeded to follow Jess and Sam, who were chatting enthusiastically about their new place, until they finally reached IKEA. "Better keep an eye on Sam or else you're gonna find your credit card maxed out."

Sam gave him an incredulous look, "This is mostly kid's stuff."

"Exactly."

"Oh haha, Dean, hilarious."

Jessica poked her head out from a little kitchen area further along the path, "Sam, get over here. This is exactly the sort of set-up I want, but not in this style." She took a step back, "What do you think?"

Sam went to Jess and Dean went to a large leather chair. "Hey, do you think this is meant to fit more than one person? 'Cause I would definitely just take over the entire thing." Dean sank into the cushions, "Also, you should definitely buy this."

Sam looked up from swatches of different countertops. "With your fat ass it's not like anyone else _could_fit in it anyways."

"Hey," Dean said in a wounded voice, "I've just got big hips."

"Help me choose a desk!" Both Sam and Dean turned to find that Jessica had already moved on from the kitchen and somehow made it even further down the path to where a cluster of home office showrooms were set-up.

Sam sighed and said to Dean, "I told you. Crazy," before he made his way over, getting distracted once by an oddly shaped light fixture. He called out towards Jess, "You realize that when we go to Pottery Barn you're going to forget about everything you're looking at right now."

Jess lifted her arm to show Sam the point-and-shoot digital camera looped around her wrist. "Sam Winchester. You may have academic smarts, but I'm the one who's got their shit together in this relationship. Now shut up and convince me that we don't need a ten foot bookcase attached to our desk."

"'Shut up' or 'convince' you? 'Cause those are two conflicting commands, Jessica Moore."

"I don't care, choose one. Because right now you're doing neither, Samuel."

Dean watched the way Sam walked next to Jess.  
The way he'd place his hand on the small of her back.  
The ease with which they stood in the other's space.  
How Jess would smile at Sam even when he wasn't looking.

"Anyone hungry?"

The couple both turned to look at Dean.

"'Cause, right now? I could eat a moose."

"Umm…" Sam looked at Jess, "I've heard something about IKEA's Swedish meatballs?"

Jessica pinched her lips together in thought. "I think there's a Fuddruckers near Barnes and Nobles?" She looked at Dean, "They don't have moose, but they _do_have elk burgers? All those big antlered mammals probably taste the same."

"Alright," Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder and another on Jessica's, "then I'll leave you two to your interior decorating and I'm gonna grab myself a burger."

Jessica frowned, "We could eat together?"

"Nahhh, it's all good," Dean pointed at them as he walked backwards towards the exit, "go on a date or something you two lovebird-sickos." Jessica shrugged and tugged along Sam, whose eyes were still tracking Dean as he tried to leave the store.

"Um, should we tell him that he has to walk through the entire store in order to get to the exit?"

Jessica turned and grabbed Sam's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Remember last year when you made all those plans for my birthday?" Sam nodded. "Do you also remember how Dean showed up unannounced to celebrate _his _birthday that same night?" Sam nodded. "Then I think your brother can deal with getting to the exit alone." Jess patted his cheek and turned around. "Now let's look at some couches."

Meanwhile, the older Winchester was dealing with getting to the exit alone. After wandering through five different bathroom showrooms he beelined for the first IKEA rep he spotted. "Hello there," Dean's eyes flicked to her nametag, "Nora," she smiled at him politely, "I just picked up a puppy from the pound and I thought I'd stop by and grab a dog bowl before we got home, but I think I forgot to roll down windows and now I can't seem to find the exit." He made a point of worriedly looking at his watch, "Do you think you could point me to a short-cut?"

Nora nodded and quickly took him to one of the fire exits tucked out of sight and Dean left, flashing her a smile and thanks before pretending to hurry towards a random car until she finally closed the emergency exit door.

Once Dean made his way back towards the main shopping area, it didn't take him long to find the Barnes and Nobles, but he took a moment to debate whether or not he wanted pizza as he passed by the smell of pepperoni.. A large sign boasting **_Fuddruckers:_**** World's Greatest Hamburgers! Fresh – never frozen – 1/3, 1/2, 2/3 or 1 lb.100% USDA All-American, premium-cut beef **with an image of a picture perfect bacon cheeseburger slathered with barbeque sauce caught his attention.

"Good argument," Dean said and walked away from the pizza shop.

There was a small group of happy teenagers standing in line talking. Only a smattering of the tables spread across the wide room were occupied and large glass windows and open doors helped give the place an open feel. He decided to ignore the top forty hits filtering out from built-in speakers, occasionally broken by the fuzzy call of names for order pick-ups, and took a deep breath, realizing he was a lot hungrier than he'd originally thought. Fifteen minutes later he walked away with cheese sticks, a milkshake, and a burger.  
Plus a stack of cookies.

He had only gotten through one mozzarella stick before he noticed a messy shag of dark hair that looked somewhat familiar. Castiel had tucked himself away in a corner of the room with a tray of food and an open notebook on the table in front of him. Dean watched as the other man absently picked at his fries, occasionally taking a bite of his burger. More accurately, burger_**s**_, Dean was pleased to note.

Figuring that there was really only so long one person could stare at another before it became _Sam_levels of desperation- or just plain old creepy, but Dean figured they were practically the same thing anyways- he decided to make contact.

Dean stacked his food on top of the tray (and on top of each other) before navigating his way around the spaces between the tables and chairs, nearly tipping everything over while dodging someone scooting their chair back without looking.

He silently congratulated himself after he successfully made it to Castiel's table without an actual incident. Kicking the chair out with his foot, Dean put his tray on the table and sat down. Cas looked at him mid-bite and simply put his burger down, chewing slowly with questioning eyes.

"Hey there, Professor, thought you could use a little company."

Castiel took a sip from his drink before responding, "Hello, Dean. I really would prefer it if you'd call me 'Castiel'." He added as an afterthought, "Especially since, if I remember correctly, it was your brother, not you, who attended my lectures."

Dean paused with a cheese stick between his teeth, "You 'member me?" he asked around the appetizer. "Also," Dean chewed and swallowed, "I totally attended that one you did recently with those dicks at Stanford."

"I haven't done any lectures at Stanford recently." Castiel took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully, "I did attend a debate, but there was only one Dick."

They stared at each other in a moment of confusion until Dean realized, chuckling, "Wrong 'dick'," he paused, thinking it over, "Well, right _big 'D'_ Dick, but I meant _small 'd'_'dicks'. In general."

Castiel pressed his lips together and frowned.

"Okay, rephrase: I saw that debate thing with Dick and Zachariah. BOTH of whom are dicks." Dean shook his head and pointed at Cas's food, "Nevermind, just eat."

Castiel obediently munched on a fry and looked somewhere over Dean's shoulder. "They called your name earlier."

Dean looked up from his milkshake, "What? Who did?"

"The restaurant speakers. They called your name and I recognized you when you stood up to collect your food. You're the only Dean I've met. That's why I remembered you." Castiel resumed eating.

Dean followed suit, teeth sinking into the first bite of his burger. He let out a low moan of satisfaction as barbeque sauce dripped onto his tray. Cheeks full, brows raised, and eyes wide, Dean nodded at Cas. He pointed to his burger and gave a thumbs up.

"I take it that you find the burger has lived up to its advertisement?" Cas' smile was all in the corners of his lips, the edges of his eyes, and the tips of his brows.

Dean gave a little cough as a bit of food caught on the way down. "Wouldn't say it's the best in the States, _that_title belongs to this drive-in movie attendant in the middle of Minnesota," he looked at Cas, "but for a chain? It's doin' good. What about you? I figured all you top-notch academic types frequented hard-to-pronounce French restaurants."

"I'd hardly call it 'frequenting'." Dean tracked the way Cas' tongue licked a stray bit of ketchup from the corner of his lips. "We only go to Chez Panisse for our meetings."

Dean sucked at his milkshake straw, "You're trying to be funny, aren't you."

"Yes," and this time Cas' smile was more pronounced, "I did say it in jest."

Dean wasn't really sure how to react. The delivery was awkward and part of Dean could tell that the statement had been more truth than joke, but nonetheless the guy's heart seemed to be in the right place so he took a cookie from his stack and tossed it onto Cas' tray, "Here, have a cookie for your effort because you've got the 'deadpan' look down straight, but in this case it's working against you." He stuck the pad of his thumb in his mouth to suck at the crumbs. Cas bobbed his head in thanks and Dean was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the way the guy's eyes lingered on his mouth.

The blue eyes trailed up to meet Dean's. "Though you're not exactly wrong in your assumption. Many of my colleagues _would _prefer dishes that require utensils rather than moist towelettes."

"But not you, you're a man's man."

Cas held his gaze steadily, "One could definitely make that argument."

And woah, Dean thought, that was definitely an argument he'd like to cross-examine and maybe he should stop watching procedural law shows with Sam.

Dean's ringtone blared from his pocket and instead of shutting it off and asking Cas about whether or not he'd like to _go to court_- and yep, Dean was definitely putting SVU re-runs on his blacklist- he asked, "You mind?"

Cas shook his head and finally broke eye contact to look down at the notebook it seemed he had forgotten about since Dean had arrived.

"Hey, Ben."

**[** Try again. **]**

"Liiiiisa," Dean tapped Cas' notebook to get his attention, "Be right back." Cas nodded and Dean stood up, walking towards one of the large windows.

**[** If now's not a good time.. **]**

'Now' definitely wasn't a good time. "Now's fine, just having lunch." Dean watched shoppers pass by, "I take it Ben missed the killshot."

**[** Look, Dean, I'm just going to get straight to the point. I know you miss Ben and you can't imagine how much it breaks my heart to see the way he misses you too, but I _can not_ have you encouraging my son to create this, I don't know, _distance_ between him and Matt. **]**

"That's not what I'm doing, Lisa, and you know it. You guys haven't been in Michigan long and now things're getting serious with this guy and Ben's just trying to... adjust."

**[** Well, it's good to know what _Sam_ thinks of the situation. **]**

"Yeah, it _is _what Sam thinks. Doesn't mean it's wrong."

**[** Okay, I get it. I really do. I mean, this whole trip out west is supposed to be about giving Ben time to actually hang out with Matt and _adjust_. **]** Dean heard her sigh, **[** I know Ben was the one who called you and I don't mean to sound accusatory, but this trip is happening and Ben is going. **]**

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, "Okay, let's compromise."

**[** Dean- **]**

"Nope, hear me out. Ben will go to California and you guys can play happy family on the beach, but how 'bout I be the one who takes him?" He turned and noticed Castiel staring at him. Cas, who didn't even try to look away and deal with the awkwardness of being caught watching. Dean flashed him a quick smile and held up a finger while mouthing 'almost done', "It'll give us some time together and I'll convince him to give Matt a chance. I'll even make life on the road look really horrible so he'll never want to do it again."

Lisa let out a small laugh and went silent as she thought it over. Dean took his empty milkshake cup and filled it with root beer. **[** Okay. **]**

"Okay?"

**[** _Okay_. We'll talk about the details later. Now get back to your lunch. **]**

"Alright, bye Lis." Dean put his phone away and sat back at the table, stuffing the last two mozzarella sticks into his mouth.

Cas tilted his head, "Custody battle?"

"My ex's kid, so not exactly," Dean huffed into his drink, "but close enough, I guess." He looked up when Cas remained silent.

Something had shifted in the way Castiel was looking at him. Dean realized that, had he chosen to simply sit and stare at Cas from his original table, it would have never reached Sam levels of desperation, at least, not on the Cas Scale of Appropriate Lengths of Staring.

But it was definitely getting under Dean's skin. "All good?"

Cas broke his stare to look at his notebook. After a moment he flipped it shut and sat back, picking up his drink. "I wouldn't think it very intuitive, or profitable, to hide America's greatest burger in a drive-through theater in the middle of Minnesota."

Dean paused in confusion before remembering his digression from not even twenty minutes earlier. He let out a bark of laughter. "Did you miss the lesson on 'proper segues'?"

A cloud moved and sunlight fell across Cas' face. He lifted a hand to try and block it, squinting at Dean. "Did you _have_a lesson on 'proper segues'?"

"Touché." Dean reached across the table to pick-up Cas' notebook and leaned over slightly to hold it up against the rays of sun.

Their fingers brushed as Cas took the notebook from Dean. "Thank you."

Dean eventually dropped his hand and sat back in his chair, stretching out his legs and grabbing his drink. "By the way, it's called a drive-_in_ theater. Drive-_throughs _are at fast food joints."

Cas' eyes rested on where Dean's fingers had wrapped around his cup. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

A/N: I haven't had a chance to respond to the latest reviews, but do know that I truly appreciate each one of you. I don't know for how much longer I can keep up this writing speed (I assume closer in the middle where I actually need to worry about consistency and development), but you've all- and this is to anyone who's read even a chapter of this- been fantastic support. Thank you xoxo


	5. Battle Creek & Berkeley

**A/N:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEE HAPPY BIRTHDAY I DRANK a bottle of wine so sorry I'll proof read this tomorrow and do all my regretting then. Also I don't think it's even technically my birthday anywhere in the world anymore right now but whatever. Celebration is happening regardless.

* * *

Dean looked at the explosion of clothes in Ben's room. Ben, at that current moment, was half-way under his bed trying to reach a stray sock.

"You good under there, Ben?"

There was a bit of shuffling before Ben fully reappeared, sock held high in triumph. "I think I can manage." He threw the sock into a small suitcase lying open in front of his closet.

"Make sure you pack layers. It might be spring, but California's weather can be freakin' weird."

"I think I might be able to handle packing by myself." Ben started throwing his clothes into different piles. "Maybe you should go and check to see if Mom needs any help with layers and stuff."

Dean watched the tension in Ben's shoulders as he kept his back to Dean. "Matt's been to California. I think he'll be able to help your mom out."

Ben threw his clothes a with a little more force.

Sighing, Dean stepped into the room and gently turned Ben to face him. Ben refused to his meet his eyes, choosing to instead scowl at the pendant hanging from Dean's neck. "Ben..." Dean took a seat at the edge of his bed.

"Stop, Dean. You don't need to give me another talk about why you left and why you're not coming back." Ben took a seat on his bed next to Dean, "I've heard it enough times from Mom too."

Dean picked up one of Ben's t-shirts and folded it slowly. "Then why's Matt suddenly an issue again? Is it this trip?"

Ben was quiet for a full minute as Dean continued folding shirts. When he finally spoke it was barely above a whisper. "It's because you're not my dad."

Dean began rolling up a pair of jeans, because, okay maybe that wasn't the response he was expecting and denim at least seemed like something he could manage. He knew his natural response should be 'And I never was', but it wasn't something he really wanted to process at that moment. So he went with the less than reassuring: "I thought we were talking about Matt?"

Ben gave him an incredulous look before looking away, "You don't get it, Dean. The reason we're going to California? It's to meet Matt's family. If Mom marries him then _he'll _be my dad and that means you..." Ben fell back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, "you never will be."

Dean placed the rolled up pants next to the sloppily growing pile of folded items. His eyes drifted over to the photo sitting on Ben's small bookshelf in the corner. It was one Lisa had taken of Dean and Ben when they had been living in Cicero together. The two were standing in front of the Impala's open hood. Ben was standing on a step so his shoulders were level with Dean's and both were holding up bottles of root beer. After a moment of silent consideration, Dean pushed himself off the bed and turned to face it. "Get up."

Ben grudgingly followed his order, face schooled into neutrality.

"You listen carefully, Ben. Marriage is just papers. Your mom and I not getting married doesn't say a damn thing about how much I love you guys. And even if your mom does get married," Dean pulled his necklace off and lowered it around Ben's neck, "it doesn't mean I'm gonna stop returning your calls. I'll always come when you need me, Ben. No paper's _ever _going to change that."

Ben looked down at the necklace, "Okay," and then finally smiled up at Dean. "What were you saying about layers?" Dean picked up a pile of unfolded clothes and dropped them on Ben's head.

When Lisa stopped by to check-in on their progress a couple hours later, Dean was napping, Ben was on his Nintendo 3DS, and the suitcase was lying open, neatly packed and awaiting her inspection.

The following morning they packed up the Impala and went on their way, Lisa waving from the driveway and Ben sifting through Dean's cassette tapes. They pulled off at a diner for lunch and Dean spread a large roadmap out on the table.

"Alright, Ben." Dean pulled out a pencil. "This is your first trip so you get to choose the stops."

Ben pulled out his cellphone, "I made a list."

Dean looked it over, noting that hitting everything on Ben's list (Mount Rushmore _and _the Grand Canyon) would double the length of the original fifty hour drive. "Alright, we better get a move on. Make sure to order extra food so we can take it to go and just eat it on the road."

Ben nodded enthusiastically and helped Dean map out their route. They were back on the road within the hour and Ben was fast asleep not long after.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx

It had been a long time since Dean had driven anywhere with purpose and a time limit and he found that it was a nice change of pace. Sure, he had to come in contact with a lot more tourists because of the places Ben wanted to see, but the kid hadn't lost any of the enthusiasm he had started with and for that Dean was grateful.

Sure, the timetable they had set in order to get to San Francisco before Lisa and Matt arrived was gruelling and Ben was often exhausted by the end of the day, but Dean figured Ben passed out while they were on the road was better than Ben playing games on his cellphone. Or Ben shutting himself away with earbuds and his ipod.

Dean wasn't going to complain. Because it may have been a long time since he'd driven with purpose, but it'd been an even longer time since he'd traveled with company. And once upon a time it had been Sam in that seat. And before that it had been Dean.

So he turned the volume down and let Ben sleep, only waking him up for a bathroom break in the middle of Nevada.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

They reached the San Francisco Bay Area two days early and had checked-in at one of the airport hotels outside the city. Ben had made his daily check-up call to his mom and Lisa had immediately sent him a list of things she didn't want Dean to show Ben because "you can have the rest of the United States, just let Matt have San Francisco."

Sam visited them at their hotel the morning after they had settled in. He set up his laptop on the small table by the window while Ben was in the shower.

"Alright, so I've got a friend that goes to Berkeley and she's offered to show us around."

Dean groaned, "I already said 'no' to Stanford, what makes you think _another _college is going to be any more appealing?"

Sam sighed and turned away from his laptop to look at Dean, "I figured Berkeley's a little... dirtier? Louder? Or, I mean..." he struggled for a moment, "eccentric?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "You mean it's full of tree-hugging hippies."

"I mean there's not much you can do with all the stuff Lisa's put on this list of 'Do Not's and there's more to Berkeley than just the college campus," he turned back to his laptop, "and it's got these old-school record and cassette shops which might be nice since you refuse to install an ipod hookup-"

"I don't even own an ipod."

"-in the impala. And Charlie's really cool so she probably won't even be giving you an academic tour of the place anyways."

"Not gonna lie, Sammy, your definition of 'cool' is pretty suspect."

"Fine, you know what?" Sam jabbed at his touchpad and a loud pulsing of **brrbrr **came out of the speakers.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm skyping Charlie so you can talk to her yourself."

"Dude, unnecessary."

"Heeeeey, Charlie," Sam pulled Dean so his face was in view of the built-in webcam, "this is my brother Dean."

A redhead with thick-rimmed black glasses squinted back through the screen.** "**Uh, hey Sam. Dean, nice to meet you." She glanced over her shoulder, "I'm technically at work right now and while I can wipe the logs from this computer, I can't stop someone from walking by my desk, sooo...**"**

Dean shoved Sam out of the way, "Sorry 'bout that Charlie, it sounds like you're busy so we'll be quick. We really appreciate your offering to show us around, but we'd hate to be an inconvenience especially since you don't even know Ben and I so don't feel like you're under _any _obligation." Dean leaned in closer to the screen, "I mean, really. None at all."

Charlie was looking off screen, typing, but glanced back when Dean finished talking and replied distractedly, "No, it's fine.I was going to show him this invisibility cloak they're working on in one of the labs." She leaned in towards the screen and whispered, "They keep telling reporters that they're still only on the beginning stages, but I know for _a fact _that the thing they're working on now would fool the Marauder's Map."

Dean plastered a smile on his face and nodded politely, "Uh-huuuuhhh..."

**"**And anyways,**"** Charlie turned back to whatever she had been working on offscreen, **"**It's 'Flashback Thursday' at the movie theater downtown and they're playing _Star Trek IV_ so I'll have to ditch you guys then.**"**

Dean perked up, "Save the whales?"

Charlie narrowed her eyes at Dean, giving him an appraising look, nodding slowly, "I think we could get along, Dean Winchester." She added, "I'll meet you guys at Memorial Glade around four? It's in front of the main stacks library."

Sam squeezed in next to Dean so he was back in view of the camera, "Thanks a lot, Charlie! See you then." He turned to Dean and had an amused smirk on his face, "Really? You're all 'save the whales', but _I'm _the geek."

Dean flopped onto his bed and listened to the sound of running water from Ben's shower. "Hey. On one side you've got Captain Kirk. On the other it's pretty-boy elves wielding wands."

"I _dare _you to talk shit about Lord of the Rings or ...Harry Potter? I'm not actually sure what you were trying to reference right then, to Charlie."

Dean rolled over onto his stomach. "I dunno, I think she might be more Star Wars rather than Star _Warts_."

"Do you mean _Hog_warts? Because she definitely made a Harry Potter reference _while you were talking to her_."

Dean shrugged and shook his head.

"The invisibility cloak? Marauder's Map?"

Dean stretched out his arms and legs.

Sam rolled his eyes and flopped onto Ben's bed. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me up when Ben's ready to go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel picked up his pad of post-it notes and jotted down a name and title. "I recommend you read this book." He peeled off the note and handed it to the student in front of him. "Technically, only chapters three and eleven are explicitly relevant to this course, but the book in its entirety may help you get a better grasp of the fundamentals of the general field."

"Thank you, professor," the girl, platinum blonde hair and barely in her twenties, hesitated before adding, "and if I still need clarification? It's just... the Hegel reading-"

"-Is dense and the language obscure?" She nodded. "Yes. If you find that you are still having trouble with the material despite the extra reading then you know when my office hours are and we can try a different approach."

She took a deep breath and stood up, collecting her notebook. "Okay, thanks professor."

A light british accent interrupted before the student could turn to leave, "The good Professor Novak misspoke," a scruffy-chinned man with short sandy blonde hair smiled at the student and put down his briefcase and two travel mugs in the space where her stuff had been, "you can _e-mail _him if you have anymore questions seeing as how he'll be leaving the country tonight."

The girl nodded her head quickly in understanding and exchanged another set of thanks and goodbye before finally leaving the open balcony area of the cafe.

"Balthazar," Castiel acknowledged, "I'm not leaving for Brazil until next week."

Balthazar shrugged and took a seat, "I'll let you in on a secret: if you tell them you won't be here, _they won't come_."

Cas shuffled his notes to show his disapproval, "Sometimes I find myself questioning your decision to become an educator."

Balthazar gave him a look of disdain and pushed one of the mugs forwards, "Come now, Cassie. The only reason professors hold lectures at all is because we wouldn't get our research funded otherwise."

("...thirteen or something...not even in high school yet...")  
Castiel looked around as something snagged the edge of his awareness.

"You know," Balthazar popped open his tumbler and took a long sniff, "I think coffee's really grown on me, but then that's probably what meth heads say too."

("...important...positive image of higher education...future!")  
"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop talking for a moment, Balthazar."

"I _really _don't need another lecture on 'Coffee & America: The Untold Love Story'."

"_Batlhazar_."

Batlhazar rolled his eyes and took a drink, opening his briefcase with his free hand while Castiel looked over the wide balcony railing to confirm what had caught his attention.

"Trust me, Sam. If you're trying to 'encourage a positive image of higher education' then showing Ben Mark Twain's autobiography isn't the way to do it."

Sam looked at his watch, "We're half an hour early. What else is there to do on a college campus if you don't want to look at libraries?"

Dean spread his arms wide to indicate the large glade before them. "We're gonna throw a frisbee."

"Frisbee? Really?"

"I didn't bring a baseball," Dean said defensively.

"And you brought a _frisbee_?"

Dean grinned wide, "Nope, but that group sitting down over there isn't using theirs and Ben's freakin' adorable."

Ben copied Dean's grin in support.

Sam didn't look convinced. "Okay, you guys go steal a frisbee and call me when Charlie gets here. I'll be in the library."

Castiel watched as Dean and Ben headed over to the group of twenty-somethings laying out in the field until Balthazar snapped his fingers in Cas's face.

"Earth to Castiel?" Balthazar looked over the balcony, trying to pinpoint what had caught his friend's attention.

Castiel sat back in his seat and finally picked up his drink, "Thank you for the coffee."

"Going to pretend that moment just there didn't happen, are we?"

"As you so kindly reminded me earlier, we'll be out of the country next week." Cas reached into his leather messenger bag and pulled out a small stack of papers. "I have work that needs to be finished before then."

"_What _has got your feathers all a ruffle?"

Castiel glared at him.

"Okay, okay, I should know better than to try and understand your oddities." Balthazar pulled out his laptop and flipped the screen open.

The next twenty minutes passed in a comfortable buzz of nearby chatter and the clicking of Balthazar's keyboard. Castiel flipped page after page of student writing, but had stayed solidly distracted by Dean and Ben playing in the distance.

The two had successfully charmed their way into borrowing the frisbee and Dean had proceeded to teach Ben different techniques for throwing. Castiel wasn't nearly close enough to really see what was going on, but he _could _see Ben's improvement. And when Ben accidentally clocked Dean on the head with a particularly fast throw while Dean wasn't looking, the entire thing dissolved into an impromptu sparring session.

It didn't take long for Cas to realize that Dean wasn't just play fighting, he had obviously been trained and was showing Ben legitimate self-defense moves. Castiel's own training kicked in, making mental notes and corrections on Dean's technique and style. _Survival training_, Cas' mind supplied. He wondered whether or not Dean had learned it as an extracurricular activity or because it was necessary for a life on the road.

Dean eventually got a call on his phone and both he and Ben made their way back to the area in front of the cafe's balcony to meet a pretty ginger girl in a bright teal jacket with a canvas messenger bag hanging at her side. Introductions were exchanged and Castiel watched quietly as they made their way to, assumingly, retrieve Sam.

Or, at least, Castiel had _intended _to watch quietly, but then Balthazar had stood up, leaned over the balcony and called out loudly, "Hey! You, with the fitted leather jacket and strong manly jaw." Nearly everyone within earshot turned to look at Balthazar, who in turn looked back at them derisively, "If you are neither wearing a leather jacket nor have a strong manly jaw then you are wasting your time."

Castiel sighed and stood up, "Balthazar, you're making a scene."

"Yes, well, I've just spent an hour watching you _not_ make a scene with a man a hundred meters away and it was kind of obscene how much of a scene you _weren't _making. So we're doing this my way."

"Now you're being hyperbolic, it hasn't even been thirty minutes."

"Cas?"

Balthazar whipped his head around to stare at Dean and then turned back to raise his eyebrows at Cas. "Now _this _is an interesting development."

Castiel silently looked down at Dean.

"'She speaks yet she says nothing'," Balthazar teased.

Castiel glared at his friend before finally calling out, "Hello, Dean."

Dean turned back to his companions, "Hey, Ben, Charlie, do you mind if I take a minute?"

"How about Ben and I go and find Sam and then you can go and," Charlie grinned and gave him an exaggerated wink, "'take a minute'."

Ben looked at Charlie suspiciously, "Okay, I'm not gonna ask, but," he turned to Dean after a quick glance at Castiel, "You're still going to _Star Trek IV _with us, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Dean ruffled his hair, "Now go on."

Dean looked back up at Castiel and motioned towards the door before disappearing from sight.

Balthazar went to a nearby table and grabbed a chair, bringing it back to their own. "I think maybe you've been holding out on me, Cassie."

Castiel didn't respond.

Balthazar raised his travel mug in a mock toast, "And we all know our darling Castiel finds nothing sexier than familial loyalty."

Cas sat back down at his side of the table. "That was his ex's son."

"Even better. I bet he's got your little Annie orphan senses all a tingle."

"Whose what's are tingling?" Dean asked as he walked up and pulled out the extra chair.

Balthazar offered his hand across the table, "Balthazar, it'll no doubt be a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Dean shook his hand, "Dean."

"Yes, I heard." Balthazar smirked at Cas. "So how did you two meet? Cassie here doesn't really get out much."

Dean leaned over in an attempt to see what Cas was grading. Castiel moved one of his binders to give Dean better access before responding to Balthazar. "We met at SFO. His brother needed assistance finding his terminal last summer."

After a moment Balthazar amended, "Well, he might go out of the country often enough, but he doesn't really _go out_. So I guess an airport actually makes sense."

"And that same useless brother dragged me to some dick-fest debate that Cas was at and _that _wasn't at an airport."

Castiel frowned, "Yes, but _I_ did not see _you _so I don't think it fair to count it as part of our shared history. Your joining me for lunch is a much better example of a time we made each other's acquaintance outside of an airport."

Dean looked up at Cas in amusement, pointing at one of the essay titles, "_'Duality of Man'_?"

Castiel's eyes flicked to the paper at hand, but didn't stray long from Dean's. "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are extremely relevant to this unit," he murmured.

Balthazar looked between Dean and Cas, rolling his eyes. "So, Dean, we couldn't help but notice your little impromptu karate lesson-"

"That wasn't karate," Castiel interrupted.

"Yes, well, I guess you'd know," he smirked at Cas before turning to Dean, "Cassie here's a bit of an accomplished martial artist. He could probably have you flat on your back in seconds."

Dean let out a loud laugh and Castiel scowled, "Not that Balthazar would know since his abilities are so lacking he doesn't even have appeal to me as a sparring partner."

"Oh, Castiel, you _wound _me." Balthazar stood up and started gathering his things. "Now, I'm going to bugger off because the two of you are obscene with all your staring and I'm starting to feel like a voyeur." He pushed in his chair and looked at Castiel, "Don't forget: Thursday evening, Brazil."

"I have yet to miss a flight, Balthazar, I don't know why you insist on these reminders."

Balthazar looked back at his friend, "Usually, it's just to annoy you. This time? I think there's a genuine concern that you may find yourself otherwise...distracted. You two kids have fun."

"I'd apologize for Balthazar, but I honestly have no control over him."

Dean looked at Castiel, seemingly unfazed by his British friend, "The two of you are off to Brazil? Business or pleasure?"

Castiel cocked his head to the side, "I find my profession pleasurable, so I believe it's technically a bit of both."

Dean grinned, "Well, just make sure you don't miss any connecting flights."

"The only connecting flight I have is at LAX and I've been there often enough that the layout of the airport is of no issue."

Dean looked up at that. "You're flying to LA?"

"I have a brief layover there, yes."

Dean looked at his phone, checking the time. He knew he hadn't been with Cas for any significant length of time, but he needed something to ground him in reality and maybe convince him to not make the suggestion sitting on the tip of his tongue. And anyways, he really did need to get back to Ben this was their time together. Especially with the looming presence of Matt who could very well officially be Ben's new dad by the end of the year and Dean would be the weird ex-boyfriend stopping by to oggle the life he could have had, if only he'd been willing to settle in one place, to stop moving.

"I can't imagine giving up the freedom of controlling my journey."

Cas stared back at him, expression unchanging, "There are more benefits to flight. One does not have to be concerned about traffic, fuel, or construction detours. Not to mention the flight time is closer to two hours."

Dean shook his head slightly in frustration. "Like I mentioned the first time we met, it isn't about getting somewhere quickly because, yeah, obviously that's a battle I'm going to lose."

Castiel peered at him, "Then why put yourself through the stress of having to be alert for the duration of your travel. You must be constrained by sleep and basic human needs."

He looked up at Cas. "What's so wrong about basic human needs."

Cas remained silent for a moment, "I don't think I can understand how the pros outweigh the cons in this situation."

"Then let me show you."

"Are you offering to drive me to LAX?"

"Would you trust me to?"

"Yes."


	6. SFO to LAX

**A/N: I was debating whether or not to split this chapter in half, but ultimately decided not to. It's twice as long as average, but I figured that my chapters aren't based off of word-count, but topic. But if you feel it's a jarring change in the flow, then do let me know~**

* * *

Ben had said his goodbyes when Dean dropped him off at the hotel in San Francisco that Matt and Lisa had finally arrived and checked-in at. It seemed that Ben was ready to believe Dean's assurances that he wasn't going to just drop off the radar because of Matt, which was a fact Dean was grateful for because he had other things on his mind and having Ben think he was being abandoned by Dean was something he knew he wouldn't have been able to let go.

But Ben didn't hate him; Lisa wasn't barring him from seeing her son; Matt seemed like a genuinely nice guy; and so now Dean could go ahead and move on to the next task at hand, which was that he had once made the drive from San Francisco to Los Angeles in five hours with no stops (and no cops).

But Dean was pretty sure that this particular drive would _not_ be one of his efficiently straightforward A to B trips.

**Reason One** was because he hadn't fully filled his tank.  
**Reason Two** was because he wasn't taking I-5. He wasn't even really taking US 101. In fact, Dean was taking SR 1, aka the extremely scenic Pacific Coast Highway.  
**Reason Three** (and Dean was starting to think that Three might also be responsible for One and Two) was because he was sort of taking the trip as a personal challenge

Dean wasn't a commuter and he hated the side-looks his baby got for not being one of the sleek, aerodynamic, 65 mpg plastic cars all the yuppies were driving around nowadays. He knew his mode of transportation wasn't efficient and it grated on him that people acted like he was an idiot who simply didn't understand and always felt the need to show him the error of his ways.

So far, Castiel hadn't done that.

Sure, the guy had gone on about 'Efficiency!', but Dean had tried to get across '_It's not about that_' and Cas hadn't written him off as ignorant. Cas had instead seemed genuinely interested in 'Then what?' So now Dean's mental route was adding several hours to the expected trip duration and maybe a late-night refueling detour as well.

Dean checked his watch. He was standing in the north-side faculty parking garage and was scheduled to meet Cas at six-thirty PM. It was currently six twenty-eight and almost exactly two minutes later the elevator doors dinged open and Castiel took a moment to spot Dean before stepping out with a suitcase at his feet and a large messenger bag hanging off his shoulder.

"Dean."

"Cas," Dean acknowledged before popping open his trunk and offering to help load Cas' luggage.

Castiel shook his head, "I'll be keeping my messenger bag with me, if you don't mind."  
Dean shut the trunk and eyed Castiel's bag suspiciously, "You're planning on doing work, aren't you?"

Cas walked to the passenger's seat as Dean got behind the wheel. "I'm fairly certain that was a rhetorical question, but I feel that it may be necessary to confirm that yes, I am planning to get some work done during this trip." He climbed into the Impala, setting his bag down by his feet, "Will that be a problem?"

"Problem? Nah." Dean started the engine and backed out, rolling down his window once they were out of the garage's enclosure and in the open air, "I'll just consider it 'challenge accepted'."

"So you'll be making it your goal to prevent me from working?" Castiel looked out at the familiar streets of Berkeley, still crawling with students in the fading daylight, "Perhaps I should have read the fine writing."

"The challenge isn't to _stop_ you from working. It's to make it so you _yourself_ don't want to work," Dean clarified.

"Technicality," Cas said and pointedly pulled out a thick packet of papers (this one titled _'Collapse of the Fact/Value Dichotomy'_) along with a ballpoint pen.

"Let me demonstrate the difference," said Dean before he swerved into the unoccupied lane next to him and immediately did a series of brake-checks. Cas' seatbelt locked into place and his pen flew onto the car's dash as he lost his grip. "This sort of driving would be me _preventing_ you from working."

Castiel unbuckled his seatbelt and retrieved his pen from where it had gotten caught in a rivet by the windshield once the car steadied, "_That_sort of driving would have resulted in coffee splashed all over your leather seats."

Dean popped in one of his favorite Zeppelin tapes. "From here on out it's all _persuasion_." He propped his left arm out his open window and stared straight at the road ahead.

Cas watched the San Francisco skyline as it grew smaller in the rearview and slowly let out one long breath before looking down at the paper in his hand and writing a quick comment in the margin about lack of clarity in the thesis. He quickly zoned himself out to the rest of the world and focused onto his grading. It wasn't until a good ninety minutes of his head propped against the window frame did Castiel suddenly jerk out of his impromptu nap and realize he was stepping on the paper he had been trying to grade and his pen was wedged next to the door.

On his left Dean was mouthing along to Metallica and on his right the road fell away to the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean and the sun just beginning its descent. Castiel watched as the empty beaches passed by and strained to hear and smell the salty ocean waves, but was unsurprised when both were masked by the smell and sounds of the Impala.

"Welcome back to Earth." Dean's eyes briefly turned to Cas before flicking back to the road. "We're just about at Big Sur."

"I assumed you weren't the touristy type."

"Hey," Dean defended, "It doesn't count if it's sitting on the highway we happen to be taking."

"Actually, I was talking about these." Castiel pulled a handful of pamphlets that he found tucked into the space between the passenger's side door and the seat while reaching for his pen. "Grand Canyon, Area 51, Four Corners, Mount Rushmore... unless there's an incredibly impractical highway that happens to pass through all of these?"

"You're kind of a dick, aren't you?" Dean said with something akin to fondness. "Those were all places Ben wanted to visit."

Cas leafed through the glossy papers, "I'd almost have expected you to discourage him."

"You've made an awful lot of assumptions about me." Dean tried to keep his voice light-hearted even if Cas sounded like he was getting ready to whip out a new list of expectations that Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't want to live up to.

Castiel looked at Dean, examining, "I believe it's a base instinct for most, if not all, living creatures to prejudge their environment and the things that populate it."

"Are you defending racism?"

There was a moment of silence as Castiel considered his answer, "Perhaps the right to be a racist, but not racism itself. Everyone has a right to thought, but only a person's actions and intentions can justify prejudice."

Dean gave Cas a skeptical glance, "You do realize all I'm getting is that you're okay with bigots?"

"That's not..." Castiel paused, then sighed, "You are free to hate whomever you want, but it cannot fuel your actions."

"Unlike Vulcans, us humans are pretty shitty when it comes to separating emotions from what we do, but look, I don't even know what we're talking about anymore."

Castiel tucked the paper back into his bag, dusting off as much of his shoe print as possible, and then also tucked his bag under the seat. He stopped to recall the way Dean had acted with Ben. Even the way Dean had acted with Sam. "I simply meant to say that the reality of you, Dean Winchester, has so far exceeded all of my preconceived notions."

Dean looked at Cas for a second, shaking his head, "Alright, Creepster McGee, we've been in each other's presence for maybe a total of," Dean made a show of doing fake mental calculations, "less than six hours. So don't mind me if I just... don't really take your word for it, cool?"

Castiel fell back to silently stare out at the scenery. "It's easy to forget how big everything actually is when looking out an airplane window. You forget all the nooks and crannies."

Dean remained quiet, but pulled into the next rest stop they reached. Castiel watched Dean get out of the card and turn around to walk towards an overgrown path twisting down through lush green forest. "Dean? The restrooms are located on the other end of the parking lot, not in the woods."

Dean called back over his shoulder, "I never said anything about the bathroom."

Castiel unbuckled and followed after, glad he had at least swapped out his suit for jeans and a short-sleeved button up. "It was a logical assumption since we pulled into a rest stop."

Dean abruptly stopped and turned around, finding himself inches from Cas. He fought his socially trained instinct to step back, but felt that maybe this was one of those dominance things: first one to look away loses. "Maybe you should stop making so many assumptions."

Cas didn't even flinch, "You're asking me to suspend a natural cognitive process that I can't control."

"Excuses, excuses." Dean broke through the line of trees and stepped out onto an open beach without a soul in sight. The sun was low enough that the sky was beginning to darken, but it had yet another hour before it would fully set.

Castiel walked forward and inhaled the untainted smell of the ocean while picking up on the sound of sea lions barking in the distance. He watched curiously as Dean laid down on his back with his hands tucked under his head and looking for all intents and purposes about ready for an early evening nap. Castiel looked down at him quietly for a full minute and when it was clear Dean wasn't planning on saying anything, Cas spoke up, "What are you doing?"

Dean cracked an eye open, "Enjoying nature."

"It looks more like sleeping."

"And yet here you are waking me up. Some people just have no manners."

Castiel looked at his watch. "I do understand your idea of 'it's the journey not the destination', but in this particular case there _is_ a specific destination I'd like to get to in a timely manner."

Dean didn't even bother cracking open an eye, "God, both you and Sam, I swear... You told me that your flight doesn't depart until around two in the afternoon _tomorrow_. It's not even nine in the evening _today_. What exactly are you going to do at an airport if you arrive half a day early?"

"They have premium lounges with shower and sleeping facilities."

"Must be nice to be a one percenter," Dean muttered.

Castiel stared across the ocean water. "It seems that I'm not the only one with a tendency towards assumptions."

"Whatever." A few minutes of silence passed between the two. Dean laid unmoving on the sand and Cas stayed standing still beside him. "Dude, you're not gonna peer pressure me into getting up and leaving by refusing to relax. Just frickin' give it up and enjoy the fucking nature around you."

"I think some of the sea lions on that bit of land off-shore may be mating and I'm not finding it particularly enjoyable."

"Smart-ass."

Castiel huffed and looked away from Dean. "The sun's setting."

"It's a good thing my baby's got these things called 'headlights'."

"I think your ass may be smarter than mine."

"Mr. Novak, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?"

"That quote would be more appropriate were you your brother."

Cas waited another minute before finally settling into the sand next to Dean. He spotted a plane in the sky above them and his thoughts flooded with perspective and scale and the mysteries of the universe. Time passed and Castiel let the overwhelming presence of nature trigger memories of parks and people he hadn't thought of in years.

Eventually Dean stood up, dusting the sand off the back of his clothes. "We'll have to stop for gas in another hour or so. We can grab a late dinner then." He made his way back to the small path towards the car.

Castiel didn't follow him.

Dean turned back and saw the slight shiver that ran through Cas as the early evening chill began to creep in. "What happened to all that enthusiasm to get back on the road?"

"I think," Castiel said, finally getting up and turning towards Dean, "the most regretful aspect of travelling by airplane is the inability to roll down the windows."

"There may be hope for you yet," Dean declared as he threw an arm over Cas' shoulders. "Though to be fair, you may not get open windows, but you _do_ have the mile-high club."

"Completely impractical. I find it questionable that the on-board restrooms found on most planes would be able to provide enough room for any sex to be completely satisfying." Castiel pressed in closer to Dean's side, making sure to avoid stepping on his feet in the process.

Dean dropped his arm as they reached the Impala. "You can have satisfying sex anytime, but you can't have mile-high sex just anywhere."

Castiel got into the car and waited for Dean to slide behind the wheel before responding, "It seems that, once again, we may have different priorities."

"It's not like the two are mutually exclusive." Dean waggled his eyebrows at Cas once they were back on the Pacific Coast Highway, "Just sayin' that if _I_ got you into a cramped airplane bathroom, you wouldn't be questioning your satisfaction." He casually looked back at the road, knowing full well that he might have overstepped his bounds, but mostly confident that he hadn't.

And if Dean had expected Cas to take a moment to gather himself, he would've been disappointed because almost immediately Castiel replied, "As an academic I try not to commit to an idea without hard evidence."

"You're trying to seduce me-"

"Not even thirty minutes have passed since you last used that reference."

Dean grinned into the wind whipping in from the open windows, "Still applies."

Castiel stifled a yawn.

"It's like, ten-before-nine right now," Dean said in amusement.

Cas thumped his head against the edge of the open window's frame, "I have been getting up at five o'clock every morning this past week to ensure that any outstanding business would be settled before I left."

"Okay, old man, take your nap and I'll wake you up when we stop for gas and grub."

"I'd appreciate that." Castiel rolled up his window and slipped off his shoes.

Dean watched from the corner of his eye as Cas balled up his overcoat and tucked it between his head and the window's glass. Eventually Cas' breathing evened out and Dean once again found himself oddly comforted by the simple presence of another person.

And if this time around that 'other person' happened to be a hot guy he'd been exchanging completely obvious flirtations with instead of his twelve year old not-exactly-son, well... Dean could do worse.

At a quarter past eleven, Dean started keeping an eye out for exits. The fuel light had yet to ping on, but he could read his sweetheart better than the built-in indicators and he knew he'd only have another forty-five minutes before he'd actually be running on empty. Dean saw signs for a city a little further inland and he was pulling into a small gas station within the hour.

"Alright, Sleeping Beauty, time to refuel."

Cas didn't budge.

Dean leaned across the seat and scraped just the tip of his index fingernail feather-light down Cas' cheek.

Castiel twitched, mouth falling into a frown and one hand coming up to instinctively swat at the area.

Dean tried again, running his fingernail lightly from Cas' adam's apple up to his chin.

This time Castiel jerked awake, eyes wide, and his fingers reflexively snapped around Dean's wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Waking you up."

Castiel looked down to where he was still gripping Dean's wrist and slowly loosened his fingers. "There are better methods you could have employed that don't involve mimicking an insect crawling on my face."

They both climbed out of the car and Castiel stretched as Dean worked the pump. "Hey, Cas, you wanna run inside and check where the closest food joint that'd still be open is? It'll probably be an IHOP or a really shady burrito place, welcome to California."

"Or the Hammersky Inn. Their kitchens are 'open twenty-four seven!' And that's their exclamation point, not mine." Castiel nodded towards an ancient-looking, though well-kept, estate across the road and the large black and white sign from which he had been reading.

Dean didn't agree with the exclamation point, "Inns always serve that dainty brunch crap."

"Your criteria were: 'closest', 'food joint', and 'still open'. It's nearly midnight and we're surrounded by vineyards; if they're still serving brunch then they are _wrong_."

"Well then," Dean said as he twisted his gas cap back in place, "I'd hate to deny you the chance to right such a wrong. And that place looks like someone's house. You sure it's an actual business?"

"_I_ am not the one who wrote the sign, Dean."

"No, but _we'll_ be the ones eating soylent green for believing it."

Castiel looked back at the looming inn while Dean parked his car in an actual spot. They both crossed the empty road towards the inn and down the winding path that took them through a lush vineyard. The lobby was a small desk set up in the large foyer of the house and an old man sat behind it reading a yellowing paperback.

"Food," Dean informed the man.

The attendant looked up before turning his head to look into an adjacent brightly lit room. Dean and Castiel looked along with him and saw that the inn was obviously bigger than they had initially thought. Beyond a set of spiraling stairs was a large dining room where a couple truckers sat looking out of place next to the polished wood of the decor.

Suddenly there was a shrill ringing and their attention snapped back to the desk and the ancient-looking brass phone sitting atop it. The attendant eyed the phone warily and said, "Grab a seat and Paul will be out to help you."

The phone eventually stopped ringing, the man went back to his book, and Dean and Castiel made their way to one of the booths against the window. Dean was pleased to see that the breakfast menus were out and it didn't take long for Paul to come out and take their orders (waffles for Dean, biscuits and gravy for Cas, and an extra side of bacon and sausage for both).

Castiel rubbed his shoulders as he slowly stretched out his neck. "I'm not sure I will ever get used to sleeping while sitting up."

"No worries," Dean poured himself a cup of coffee and breathed it in, "another four hours and you'll have your premium lounge."

Cas looked up from his own cup of coffee, "I do apologize for spending so much of this trip asleep."

Dean waved him off, "Sam used to knock out the moment the car started moving." He paused for a moment, "But then, Sammy used to have really bad nightmares when he was a kid and 'the monsters' would keep him up most nights."

"And did you help him overcome his fear or were you the type of brother who had convinced him monsters existed in the first place?"

Castiel watched Dean carefully as he considered his answer. The corners of his lips had quirked up into a small smile and his eyes brightened just the tiniest bit. "Neither. Mom and Dad were the ones to check under his bed, in the closet, and even behind the damn _curtains_. But Sam was never convinced. Thought that they'd have to be really shitty monsters to hide in obvious places."

Castiel watched the bob of Dean's throat when he paused to down the rest of his coffee. "So your tactic was...?"

"Well ya' see... Sammy'd get specific with certain monsters. Sometimes it'd just be normal vampires and zombies, but other times it'd be something that could mimic a human voice or maybe feed on you for weeks before you noticed." Dean gave Cas a small nod of thanks as he poured out more coffee. "So I started looking up local lore. Would teach Sam these obscure 'protection sigils' I'd find in library books. And it helped for awhile. Until he grew into an angsty teenager."

Castiel could tell Dean had skimmed over something important. Something that had dulled the corners of his smile and had brought the story to a premature end. "Stories of the supernatural permeate cultures on a global and historic scale. It is not illogical to assume that they have some basis in reality."

"Trust me, I know." Dean leaned forward on his elbows, "I mean, you've got the really obvious touristy shit they put out there to sell keychains like Jackalopes and Chupacabras. But the stuff they don't tell you is the stuff they actually believe. For example," Dean looked around and waved Paul, their server, over.

Paul gave them a polite smile, "Your orders will be out in a little bit, sorry for the wait."

Dean smiled up at him charmingly, "Tell me about the old phone you guys've got out there."

Castiel tilted his head at Dean in curiosity.

Paul pursed his lips and threw a glance towards the foyer. "If you need to make a call we do have a phone at the front-"

"Nope," Dean interrupted, "I'm talking about the antique one on the desk that was ringing earlier. Nobody answered it."

One of the truckers let out a big laugh and asked, "Is ol' Emsley still pulling the alarm?"

Dean grinned knowingly and Paul let out a sound of frustration. "It's just a glitch in the phone-line."

The trucker ignored him and turned his chair to face Dean and Cas' booth. "Story goes that Emsley used to work here back in the forties. Fire broke out, Emsley ran downstairs and called the fire department, but then his weak little heart just gave out from the excitement. Everyone else got out because of him. Nowadays that old phone rings even when it's not connected." The trucker laughed at Paul's lack of enthusiasm, "I've been stopping at this inn for nearly a decade. The worst that's happened is that the phone called 911 once. Emsley's ghost is harmless."

Paul glared at him, "Harmless until people stop booking our rooms because of a rumor that the place is haunted."

"Well, if it helps any," Dean said, "we were only here for the food in the first place so it's not like you're actually losing our business."

"Actually," Castiel spoke up, "we _would_ like to book a room for tonight if you have any available."

Dean looked away from Paul and the mystery trucker to find Cas looking straight at him. "I'm not sure you noticed, but one: you've got a flight to catch; and two: you've been sleeping for the majority of this drive already."

"One: even if we slept for a full six hours, we'd still arrive at the airport with three hours before my departure time; and two: I don't remember expressing my intentions in regards to getting more sleep."

Paul put his best customer service face on and smiled between the two of them, "So that'll just be one room, then?"

"Right, Paul," Dean looked back at their server, "What're the chances we can just get our food straight into a doggy bag?"

Paul gave them another polite smile, "I'll see what we can do," and excused himself.

When Dean met Cas' eyes once again, the layer of tension that had always sort of been there between them was exponentially stronger. The feeling was one Dean hadn't realized he missed. In his history of one-night stands, he found that this sort of tension, sexual or otherwise, never really made an appearance. One-night stands were simple and unattached from everything else in his life. It was comfortable and easy. And even if things went wrong they never went _wrong_ in the way anyone really cared about beyond the hour.

Tension meant that maybe there was something at stake. That if things went wrong, they could go wrong in a way Dean might actually care enough about to regret. And, okay so Dean still had enough appendages to count the number of hours he and Cas had even been in each other's company, but he wasn't so emotionally stunted that he couldn't tell when maybe things were going to be something not quite like a one-night stand.

No, Dean's emotional stuntedness was only visible in his general unwillingness to readily admit that shit to other people.

They continued to sit in silence, staring at each other more than not, and while the overhanging tension was still there, Dean could only be grateful that it wasn't awkward. Sure, the way Cas was staring at him was probably making everyone else that was present feel incredibly awkward, but at the moment that was two grizzly truckers drinking wine and possibly a ghost.

Dean figured they could all probably handle a bit of eyefucking. And if Paul had a problem with it then maybe he should have brought them their food ten minutes ago.

But it was a non-issue because Paul dropped off their food- with their room key and a quick explanation that all food and drinks would be taken care of upon check-out- and had then immediately darted back into the kitchen.

Castiel stood and picked up their styrofoam boxes packed away neatly into white plastic bags. "Shall we?"

Dean grabbed the room key and attached keychain with their number and led their way back to the main foyer. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and nodded his head in the direction of the front doors. "Should we grab our bags?"

Cas looked at him quizzically, "For what?"

"Um. Clothes?"

Castiel took a step closer, "If you're under the impression that what we need at this moment is _more_ clothes then I'm afraid I was too subtle in my intentions."

"Trust me, Cas, out of everything you may be, subtle isn't really one of them."

"Then, if you are aware and not opposed," Castiel took another step closer and slowly leaned in, gauging Dean's reaction before capturing his bottom lip in a fairly chaste kiss.

Dean indulged for a moment before pulling back and murmuring, "Maybe we should find our room."

Cas gave a slight nod in acquiescence and they eventually located their room at the end of one of the branches off of the main hallway.

Dean had a moment to take in the quaint wooden look of their room, tossing the room key onto the nightstand, while Cas set their food into the mini-fridge tucked into a corner of the room.

Dean sat at the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots and leaving his pants crumpled on the floor as Cas undressed methodically. His jeans and button-up were folded neatly and hung off the back of one of the chairs at the table. "Neat freak much?"

Castiel's back was turned to Dean as he reached down to pull off his socks. "I try to make it a point to minimize the amount of laundry that accumulates between leaving my home and arriving at the airport."

"Oh, ho. It looks like we've got a snark monster," Dean joked as he lifted his necklace over his head and set it beside his keys on the nightstand. A solid weight settled onto his boxer-brief clad lap while he was in the middle of pulling off his shirt.

Dean found a very unsurprisingly naked Castiel straddling his lap. "And how would you recommend Sam ward against a snark monster, Dean."

"Rule number one: salt, iron, or silver seems to work for a good chunk of monsters," Dean's right hand gripped Cas' hip as his left hand reached up around his neck, "and rule number All Of Them: do not bring up family members during sex." Dean pulled Cas forward for a thorough kiss. He nipped his way up Cas' jaw and groaned in his ear as the other man's fingers slipped under the elastic band of Dean's boxer-briefs, "Far from complaining, but I was honestly just expecting a lot of dirty jokes and maybe a quickie in the bathroom of a Love's rest stop, why the sudden change."

Castiel's fingers slowly began to stroke Dean into full hardness within the confines of his underwear, "I honestly cannot understand your fascination with sex in unsanitary locations."

Dean let out a throaty chuckle before fully lying back on the bed and tugging Cas down with him, shifting until they were closer to the center of the bed and neither of their feet were hanging off the edge. "_Fuck_, Cas, it's not about the location, it's the situation."

Dean lifted his hips and Cas sat back to pull off the remaining piece of clothing, leaving it around one ankle for Dean to kick off himself. Castiel immediately went back to his previous position over Dean, rolling their hips together and then leaning down to recapture lips and tongue. "Dea-" his breath hitched as Dean's hips came up to meet his, "Dean Winchester, you are brilliant."

Cas tilted his head back as Dean mouthed at his pulse point, "And _you're_ a bit of weirdo."

"No, _Dean_, you've shown more initiative and passion for helping your brother get over his childhood horrors-" they hit a joint rhythm in their rutting and Castiel alternated between kissing Dean and panting against his cheek, "-than most of my students have ever shown for a field they currently intend to spend the rest of their lives in."

Dean murmured against Cas' lips, "I think you need a lesson on appropriate dirty talk."

"And I think you need a lesson on what constitutes-" Castiel was cut-off as Dean surged up onto his elbows, forearms flat against the mattress and one arm snaking around to press against the small of Cas' back.

"Shut up, Cas," Dean growled before proceeding to flip their positions.

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but Dean's hand made its way between their bodies and suddenly speech didn't seem very high on his list of priorities. And while most of his attention had focused on the slip and slide of their slick bodies and the sound of his own gasping breath as the growing concentration of heat below his navel finally reached its tipping point, there was still a small part of Castiel's awareness that had zeroed in on Dean's nose rubbing against his cheekbone and Dean's smile pressed against the edge of his jaw.

Castiel opened his eyes, not even sure for how long they had been squeezed shut, and looked up into the bright green of Dean's own. Cas reached down to help with the final handful of strokes as Dean dropped his head to huff stuttering breaths and moans against Cas' shoulder as he came. They shared one final kiss before Dean rolled off of Cas and trod to the bathroom. He came back with a damp wad of toilet paper and helped clean up the sticky mess on Cas' stomach. Tossing the wad into the trash-bin, Dean spotted Cas' passport tucked under his wallet on the table. He picked it up and waved it questioningly at Cas, "You mind if I snoop?"

Castiel shrugged and Dean dropped face-down onto the bed next to him. He watched as Dean flipped through the light blue pages covered in stamps and visas and Castiel was unsurprised when Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Why does it say 'James'?"

"Because it's my name." Castiel-or-maybe-James said as he laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"You're being intentionally difficult, aren't you?"

Dean's eyes were immediately drawn to the way Cas's lips twitched. The other man looked like he was trying to hide a smile behind a frown and Dean found it oddly endearing. "I always wonder if someone might figure it out without my telling them, but generally everyone just gives up."

"Was there a riddle somewhere?" Dean continued to stare at Cas' lips, figuring they were the most straightforward of Castiel's ridiculous quirks. "Okay, whatever, I give up."

"'Castiel' was the name given to me by those who gave birth to me. 'James' I received upon confirmation." It looked like Castiel's lips had given up all pretenses of frowning. "It was recommended to me by the parents who raised me."

"'Confirmation' is one of those religious ceremonies, right?" Cas nodded and Dean added, "You're adopted."

He nodded again, "Yes," and gave another ridiculously endearing half-smile.

Dean tossed the passport onto the nightstand next to his keys and tucked an arm around his pillow. "It's kind of ridiculous that you actually think that someone could ever guess that shit off the top of their head."

Castiel clasped his hands together over his stomach. "Perhaps."

Dean turned his face into his pillow to cover a small yawn, "Sorry to disappoint."

There was a moment of shuffling as Castiel slipped under the blankets and nudged Dean to do the same. He set the alarm for six in the morning and then returned to his previous position lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. "You should stop caring so much about everyone else's expectations."

Dean grumbled some sort of acknowledgement, but it wasn't long before they both drifted into sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx

**[** Castiel, _where the hell are you?!_ When I said that I was afraid you'd be too distracted to make our flight, I was just taking the piss. **]**

They had been back on the road for an hour and a half and Cas was actually awake in the passenger's seat. Dean looked at him in amusement, having been able to catch bits and pieces of Balthazar's words. "You didn't tell him you were getting a ride?"

Castiel had the decency to look a little sheepish, but Dean wasn't terribly convinced of his sincerity, "I may have forgotten to mention it, yes."

**[** Who the was that? Are you in bed with someone right now? And is that someone a certain green-eyed wonder? **]**

"Not in bed at the moment, no. He's giving me a ride to the airport."

**[** Shall we just meet inside the domestic terminals at that little soup shop you like so much? **]**

"My apologies, I wasn't clear. I'm getting a ride to LAX."

Dean glanced over at him and said loudly so the phone would pick it up, "We should be arriving in a couple hours."

There was a moment of silence as Balthazar let the information sink in. **[** You sly dog, Cassie. It looks like we'll have plenty to chat about when I see you. **]**

"You are rarely without something to chat about, Balthazar. Have a safe flight and I'll be at our gate when you land." Cas ended the call and started taking inventory of his travel documents.

"I noticed last night that you've got a helluva lot of stamps in your passport there."

Castiel hummed in acknowledgment, "Yes, I've fortunately had a chance to visit many different countries."

"Yeah, but how many of those visits were really just you at a hotel doing your professor gig? Because trust me, there's a difference between going to a country versus actually _visiting_ it."

Castiel bristled slightly in defense, "Despite what Balthazar may say, I do actually go out. You can't properly experience the food and language of a foreign land within the confines of a hotel room."

"Wasn't accusing, just saying."

"Of course," Castiel said.

Dean grinned at him, taking a moment to appreciate the easy way they had settled back into their comfortable, if odd, friendship. They had woken up in bed that morning starving, only to remember the take-out still in the mini-fridge. There hadn't really been any cuddling and there hadn't been any crisis of labels. They had eaten their breakfast, Cas hadn't had to do laundry, and a fun night had been had by all.

It wasn't until Castiel was safely at the airport and the Impala was headed into the midwest that Dean realized they hadn't actually exchanged contact information. But Dean figured that if they had managed without contact info thus far, then it couldn't have been that big a deal.

In fact, he found that sort of uncertainty kind of thrilling.

* * *

**A/N:** JUST FYI. I was looking up hauntings in south/central California and there was one in Paso Robles. I changed the actual inn the haunting took place in b/c I wanted something a little more in the boonies and I found Hammersky Inn. And then google maps showed me that right around the corner was JENSEN ROAD. Not even fucking with you.


	7. Rio & Sioux

**A/N:** So sorry about the SURPRISE!hiatus. I got sucked into the Inception fandom and just read a backlog of years worth of fic. I got a bit sidetracked. Also, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble and I'm still not perfectly happy with it, but I'll probably freshen up the entire thing once I've finished it?

* * *

The first week in Rio de Janeiro had passed Castiel in a blur of suits, tweed, and argyle. Castiel was generally left to conduct his research as he pleased, but lately he was being called away from the comfort of statistics and being pushed to wade further and further into the murky depths of international politics; suddenly, taking a year-long sabbatical sounded really very tempting, if not horribly irresponsible given the massive amount of commitments he had already marked into his planner.

Castiel abruptly stood up, the loud scrape of his chair drawing the attention of the two other professors he was currently sharing a cramped office with. "If you'll excuse me," Cas said in passing as he stuffed his laptop into his messenger bag and escaped into the fairly warm autumn of Rio in mid-March. He had been to Rio several times before, but was extremely grateful that this time around he had arrived _after_ carnaval, when the flow of tourists was at a more manageable level.

Castiel slung his bag over his shoulder and walked down the road, taking bus after bus and eventually finding himself staring up at the large statue of Cristo Redentor. He had only been in Brazil for a grand total of four days since his plane had landed, but the stunning view the mountain afforded had convinced him to make the trip up nearly a dozen times during that period. He loved that he could be surrounded by throngs of people, but once he looked out at the sheer drop and view over the city and beaches it was surprisingly easy to push everyone else to the periphery.

Except perhaps for the nagging presence of Dean Winchester hanging over Castiel's every thought. For example, Castiel was staring out at the ocean, taking in the idol of Christ, contemplating life in general, and all he could hear in his head was Dean's smug insistence that Cas didn't really _go out_- though Castiel was willing to accede that maybe Dean, who seemingly spent his entire life _being_ out, was justified in his skepticism.

Castiel's phone buzzed.

**[** **From: Balthazar**  
_Feeling peckish. Fancy some empadinhas?_ **]**

_I can be at _Casa da Empada_ in 30 minutes. _

**[** **From: Balthazar**  
_Brilliant._ **]**

Castiel passed by a small souvenir shop on his way down the mountain. A rack of shiny postcards caught his eye and he slowed to a stop in front of it.

_"how many of those visits were really just you at a hotel"_

Castiel browsed through the individual cards and picked a glossy closeup of the statue with white script reading **Christ the Redeemer** running across one side. It wasn't as visually stunning as the aerial shots of Rio in general, but Castiel reckoned Dean would appreciate that it was a more specifically accurate representation of Cas' excursion at the time of purchase.

He stared at the postcard's white backing and the quarter of space allotted for the address. Castiel was well-aware of the fact that he didn't actually have Dean's address and that even if Dean _had_ given him an address there was really no telling for how long it would be accurate before Dean was back on the road.

Cas took a moment to contemplate the fact that despite all the traveling he and Dean both claimed to do, the two of them had still managed to run into each other a good number of times. There was one common denominator in their meetings and, as Castiel slipped the postcard into his bag's side pocket after handing the seller a few coins, he made a mental note to take a look at Sam Winchester's student records.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean was helping Bobby turn his junkyard into a proper pick-n-pull with actual customers when he got the call from Sam.

**[** Dean, do you remember that professor I had named 'Novak'? **]**

Dean remembered his mouth. His lean thighs. The press of his lips on Dean's neck.

"It might ring a bell. Why? What's up?"

**[** Because it seems like he definitely remembers _you_. **]** There was the sound of movement and then the scrape of a chair before Sam continued. **[** Do you know why he'd be sending you a postcard from Brazil? **]**

Dean walked over to sit on the shaded stairs of Bobby's front porch. "Why, Sam, is that jealousy I hear marring your dulcet tones?"

**[** Come off it, Dean. I just want to make sure you haven't been going around harassing members of academia with _"speculations"_ and _"concerns"_. **]**

"You'd think a law student would know that opening someone else's mail is a federal offense."

**[** It was originally addressed to me with a request to forward it to you. Not to mention the fact that it's a POSTCARD; that's not exactly the mailing method of choice if you're terribly concerned about privacy. **]**

"I'm at Bobby's right now, but I don't know how long before I'm off so if you could overnight it for me, that'd be great," Dean lied, knowing perfectly well he'd be at Bobby's for at least another month to help out.

There was a hesitant sigh over the phone, **[** You _do_ realize that if you're interested in going to college I can probably help you out better than Professor Novak. I mean, sure the guy's probably a good contact to have, but - **]**

"Nope," Dean cut in, "we're fucking. This has nothing to do with any... _aspirations_ about higher education. That postcard is because our dicks touched and obviously it's making the good professor all sentimental."

**[** God, Dean, you don't have to be such an ass. All I'm saying is: I've got friends in admissions who could give you advice for applications. **]**

"And all _I'm_ saying is that I did the dirty with your hot prof. So can we move past your good and very misplaced intentions yet?"

Sam let out a frustrated sound and lapsed into silence. Dean could imagine the face that Sam was probably making, all frowny and severe, using his lack of verbal communication to guilt Dean into a serious conversation.

"Remember, overnight it."

**[** Yeah, okay. Got it. Just... know that I'm here, Dean. **]**

Dean wanted to laugh the fuck out loud because, for once, he was actually being blunt and honest in the face of Sam's badgering. He also, simultaneously, wanted to punch a hole into the cracked wooden panels of Bobby's deck _because_ of how wrong his brother was.

"Thanks darling," and the line went dead.

Two days later found Dean digging through the contents of peeling cardboard boxes in Bobby's attic. The glossy 4x6 postcard was on the floor next to his knee and Dean couldn't help but reread the neat half-cursive of Cas' writing. The message wasn't anything terribly scandalous. Just a simple:  
_Dean,  
To counter your speculation._

This particular landmark may be too touristy for your tastes (or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say: for the image you try to project), but it was definitely not a part of my "professor gig". Which seemed to have been your main concern.  
Castiel  
  
Dean pulled out stack of dusty super nintendo cartridges tied together with the wire from the system's accompanying controllers. Below the nest of wires sat an old polaroid camera and with a loud "Gotcha!" Dean gripped the camera, grabbed a still-sealed box of instant film, picked up the postcard, and made his way down the rickety attic stairs.

"The hell're you up to?" Bobby called out from his study, desk overflowing with documents.

Dean briefly stopped in the doorway, "Just taking out some old junk."

Bobby eyed the camera tucked under Dean's arm with suspicion, "And you thought the most efficient way to do that was to take that 'junk' down one-by-one instead of the entire box it came in?"

"Slow and steady, Bobby, slow and steady." Dean walked out to the Impala and dumped the camera onto the passenger's seat.

Dean was on the road for barely fifteen minutes before he hooked a u-turn and pulled off onto the shoulder. He grabbed the camera and looked into the viewfinder, walking backwards until the Impala and the white reflective metal sign, bearing a yellow outline of Mount Rushmore and the bright red script of **South Dakota**, fit into the same frame.

He snapped the photo and pulled out a pen, reaching into the open window of his car to grab the shiny Rio postcard as the ancient polaroid whirred gently in effort.

Dean stopped at the first post office he found. He wrote the address to the hotel Castiel was staying at on the chunk of space beneath the actual photo before flipping it over and affixing a line of stamps across the top of the white backing. Beneath the postage Dean managed to squeeze in his message:

_Cas_

There's a gas station down the road that sells postcards of the statue of liberty. And yet, as you can see from the photo that I've sent you (which I've titled Actual Proof of Where the Fuck I Am), that gas station is nowhere near our Lady Liberty. AKA: not convinced you didn't just pick-up the card from your hotel lobby (which was a lie, Dean was fairly certain Cas had bought the postcard within view of the Jesus-statue-or-whatever)__

Try harder!  
Dean

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

Castiel quickly scanned the controlled mess of Dean's small caps handwriting for the nth time before flipping it over to stare at the green-tinted gloss of the Impala's photo. He thought he could make out Dean's blurry figure reflected in the rear window of the car.

"Cassie," Balthazar called, moving away from where he had been leaning against the hotel's front desk and walking towards the smattering of cushioned lobby chairs where Castiel was sitting, "you're up early."

Castiel continued to stare at the photo as he replied, "I rarely sleep-in past eight."

"You're right. _I'm_ the one who's up too early. It's bloody awful," Balthazar smoothed a hand down his light-weight dress shirt. "I nominate that whichever bastard thought discussing the ethics of arms trades before breakfast was a good idea, be target practice for said arms. "

Castiel finally moved to meet Balthazar's gaze, but his attention snagged on the hotel gift shop on the far side of the lobby. Several postcard racks were clustered to either side of the entrance. Including an entire rack that, even at a distance, was visibly dedicated to the Cristo Redentor statue.

Castiel pursed his lips. "Do you have a camera?"

Balthazar waved his phone at Castiel, "Anyone with a mobile has a camera. Welcome to the future."

"I need a physical copy of a photograph."

Balthazar rummaged through his bag and pulled out a matte black digital camera, handing it over to Castiel. "I think you need a printer for that." He shrugged, "No one actually prints photos anymore, Cas. The internet is our photo album and our hard drives the forgotten rolls of dusty undeveloped film." Balthazar gestured for Castiel to stand up, "Let's grab some coffee and you can tell me all about your sudden urge to scrapbook."

"I'm not going to make a scrapbook," Castiel replied, standing to follow Balthazar.

When he didn't elaborate, Balthazar rolled his eyes and sighed. "You can borrow my camera. Just ask the concierge about getting your secret photos printed. They're used to you spoiled American tourists constantly needing your hands held."

Castiel huffed, "I'm not the one who demanded that his room come with a hot pot."

"I think the words you're looking for are 'electric kettle'." Balthazar filled his tumbler at the self-serve coffee stand outside the hotel lobby. "Let's sign-up for a think-tank in Tokyo. They might not be as into the milk-and-sugar type of tea, but at least they appreciate the wonders of an efficient kettle."

Castiel followed suit and filled his own travel mug. "I'll be in Piauí for the next couple days. Please do not sign me up for a think-tank in Tokyo."

"_'Durante as cheias, sempre à noite e mais freqüentemente às sextas-feiras, costuma aparecer nas águas dos rios Poti e Parnaíba, um monstro.'_"

They turned to look at an old man squatting on the floor, puffing away on a cigarette.

The coffee stand attendant let out a little laugh, "He warns you not to swim in the Poti and Parnaíba rivers. Especially on Friday nights during flood season. He says that a monster walks there." The attendant smiled at Castiel and Balthazar's joint look of confusion. "You said you will go to Piauí. It is a famous story there."

Balthazar slapped a hand on his friend's back, "Our dear Castiel here is too much of a logical thinker to truly appreciate mythology outside the realm of academic interest."

"The persistence of mythology and the fact that variations of certain monsters have popped up in enough geographically separated cultures means that it would not be illogical to assume that they have some basis in reality." Castiel had finished speaking before he realized that he had said nearly the same thing to Dean just weeks before.

He thought of the vineyard's ringing phone. Of Dean's genuine interest in local lore.

Castiel pulled a small notebook and pen from his bag. "I'm afraid my Portuguese may be lacking when it comes to the vocabulary of ancient lore, but I would appreciate it if you'd tell me the story of this monster."

The old man stubbed his cigarette on the ground and lit another. Responding in lilting English, "It is the Cabeça de Cuia."

Balthazar snorted, "'Bowl Head' is hardly a terrifying name."

"Balthazar."

"Right. Don't go skinny dipping in Piauí and I've got an arms race to moralize. _Fui_."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

**[** Is this some elaborate stunt to embarrass me, Dean? Because Novak's not even my professor anymore. And even if he were I hardly expect he'd care that I used to be afraid of the boogeyman when I was a child. **]**

Dean took a bite out of his BLT sandwich and mumbled around the crunching bacon, "Not everything's 'bout you."

**[** Then... why else would he be sending you post- no. Not even a postcard this time, but a _photo of himself_. I'm kind of the only logical link between the two of you. **]**

"You might be the logical link. But it's all about the _sexual_ link. Which was our di-"

Sam hung up. Dean sent him a text letting him know he was still at Bobby's and by the end of the week Dean was in possession of a photo of Cas.

Or, at least, some version of the word 'photo'.

The picture had been printed on a regular white piece of printer paper, only taking up about three-quarters of the page. It had obviously been self-taken, managing to capture Cas' squinting face at the end of his outstretched arm and cutting off midway down his torso. He seemed to have been standing on the bank of a muddy river and Dean could just barely make out a dingy little canoe grounded at the edge of the photo.

_Dean,  
Your brother would be relieved to know that he is not a virgin maiden named Maria, otherwise he might need your protection against the Cabeça de Cuia (though maybe you should keep him out of rural South America in general seeing as how there seems to be an endless list of people claiming first-hand experience with the uncanny). Interestingly enough, no one seemed to know any of your famed protection sigils._

Castiel

P.S.  
I realize there are no identifiable landmarks in this photograph, but I do believe your point was for me to not lock myself up in hotels and lecture halls. I hope that my standing in a river lends a hand towards its authenticity.  
  
A folded up piece of lined paper had accompanied the photograph in its envelope and Dean couldn't help but smile when he realized that Cas had painstakingly written the mythology out in full.

Dean walked from the mailbox to the Impala and slid behind the wheel. He flipped down the sun visor and let the photo he had taken earlier that week (a box of dusty cassette tapes that the divorcee housewife from down the road had dropped off in an attempt to draw Bobby's attention) flutter down to his lap. Dean cast a quick glance at his watch-1:36pm- and grabbed a pen from the glove compartment.

If he wrote fast enough he'd probably be able to catch the mailman just down the road. Dean did another readthrough of the most recent letter before setting his pen to the back of the glossy white photo backing.

_Cas-  
Got some bad news for you. Places crawling with Local legends like that DEFINITELY have all kinds protection against the spooky. They probably didn't tell you because they're gonna dunk you in holy water and next thing you know everyone's calling you 'Maria'. You're just monster chow now.  
Tough luck, buddy._

Dean

P.S. You should probably start carrying an iron shank. Y'know, just in case.  
P.P.S. I think you're getting the hang of this photo thing. Even if it's at the expense of my baby brother's delicate sensibilities.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

Balthazar stood at the kitchenette in Castiel's hotel room, slicing rounds of lemons, limes, and oranges to float on his bowl of sangria.

"Castiel, tell me, when exactly did you sign up for _Greaser's Weekly_?"

Castiel didn't bother to look up from the mess of research papers spread across the tiny hotel room table before responding. "I didn't."

"No?" Balthazar dipped a spoon into the burgundy liquid and brought it to his lips, "How about _Flashback to the 80's_?"

"I think that your decision to indulge in alcoholic drinks before lunch has pushed your questions towards inanity."

After Balthazar managed to fit the bowl of sangria into the mini-fridge, he moved to stand in front of the table across from Castiel . "Then why the sudden interest in muscle cars and cassettes?" He leaned forward and tapped the two polaroids only partially hidden under a pencil case.

Castiel jerked forward and grabbed the photos, quickly slipping them into his thick leather planner and securing the clasp shut. "It's none of your concern."

"Did I spy writing on the back of..." a grin slid onto Balthazar's face and his voice deepened with laughter, "Oh, Cassie, have you got a secret epistolary lover?"

"It's fairly customary to write information regarding the photo's subject on the back." Castiel unconsciously curled his fingers around the edge of his planner, pulling it closer. "It's hardly a unique enough occurrence for you to have jumped to that particular conclusion."

Balthazar pointedly stared at where Castiel's fingers gripped the fading leather. "No, not particularly unique, true. But _you_ are a bloody awful liar and the last time I can recall you getting this secretive was over that pompous dick you were sleeping with when we were in London last year."

Castiel picked up his coffee and pressed a soft smile against the ceramic rim of the mug. "That 'pompous dick' was your brother."

"What can I say," Balthazar sing-songed as he walked around the table to recline on Castiel's bed, "my parents obviously saved the best genes for me."

"I can't decide whether the world would be more or less horrifying if that were actually how biology worked."

Balthazar ignored him and settled on top of the covers. "Be a dear and wake me before my lunch meeting?"

"Mmmhm." Castiel hummed in acquiescence.

"Mmmhm." Balthazar echoed as he watched Castiel slip the two polaroids out of the overstuffed planner and back onto the table.

That afternoon, when Castiel was the one napping and him the one doing actual work, Balthazar gathered his pile of sealed envelopes and manila folders to drop them at the front desk to be posted. He saw a similar stack sitting on Castiel's table and quickly rifled through it, picking out any that had already been stamped and sealed. Balthazar vaguely took note of the destination of each in a low mutter. "Gift campaign, faculty luncheon, gift campaign, gift campaign, letter of recommendation, and... what have we here?"

He unfolded a piece of printer paper covered in Castiel's slanted writing that had been sitting at the bottom of the pile. It was a photo in the style reminiscent of many a half-naked social networking profile shot self-taken through the bathroom mirror. It showed Castiel's reflection off of a shop window with two mountains jutting up like shark fins just off the shores of Ipanema in the background.

_Dean,  
It's fortunate that no iron "shank" was needed, seeing as how I have no idea what sort of object that is nor where I'd acquire one. And even if the villagers had renamed me as "Maria", they'd still encounter the basic problem of my less than virginal qualities. I'm beginning to wonder whether I should take offense to the fact that you seem to have already forgotten that detail despite your firsthand experience._

Castiel

P.S. I would like to point out the hypocrisy in your having complained about the lack of absolute proof of my location in regards to my original postcard only for you to send me photos of inanimate objects. That's hardly a fair trade.  
P.P.S. The two mountains behind me are called the Dois Irmãos or the Two Brothers. I thought it was fitting.  
P.P.P.S. This is my last week in Brazil. I'm spending the weekend in Chicago and then heading to Vancouver. I'll forward my new address once I've confirmed it. Until then.

Balthazar went straight to the mini-fridge and poured himself a cup of sangria. He lifted it towards Castiel's sleeping form and proudly made a toast ("To Dean's 'firsthand experience' of Castiel's 'less than virginal qualities'!") before proceeding to down the entire cup.

Balthazar felt a moment of a guilt for having read Castiel's letter, but came to the conclusion that his duties as a wingman were of more import. He fished around for his digital camera and walked over to Castiel. Balthazar ruffled his friend's hair, carefully loosened his tie, and popped a couple buttons open before quickly snapping a photo and heading down to the digital photo printing kiosk in the lobby that he'd forgotten to mention to Castiel.

_Dean,  
This is not Castiel. Well, the photo is Castiel (you're welcome), but __**I**__ am not Castiel. I'm Balthazar and I do believe we met briefly. I thought that the following information might be useful:  
Castiel's flight lands in O'Hare late Friday night and his flight to Vancouver leaves Monday afternoon. No idea what hotel he's booked, but his mobile should be active: 510-333-8390_

Do with it as you will.  
-B.  



End file.
